TWO  MEN 


A NOVEL. 


By  ELIZABETH  STODDARD, 


AUTHOR  OF  “TJ 


'Hlf  MO 


' Wv  , ■ 


NEW  YORK: 

BUNCE  AND  HUNTINGTON. 


1865. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865, 

By  BUNCE  & HUNTINGTON, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


TO 


WILSON 


Who  will  so  well  remember  what  I knew 
As  you,  whenever  comes  the  day  to  part  ? 
We  have  ascended  one  wide  scale, 

With  all  emotion  in  its  pale ; 

Girl,  boy,  woman  and  man,  untrue  and  true, 
Together  or  apart — with^he  same  heart. 


E.  D.  B.  S. 


New  York,  1864. 


/?<&  £M'  J"  C tS'Sr 


%V3 
C~fC  LeS 


TWO  M BN. 


“ Let  us  treat  the  men  and  women  well : treat  them  as  if  they 
were  real : perhaps  they  are.” 

u Nature,  as  we  know  her,  is  no  saint.  The  lights  of  the  Church, 
the  Ascetics,  Gentoos,  and  corn-eaters,  she  does  not  distinguish  by 
any  favor.  She  comes  eating  and  drinking  and  sinning.  Her  dar- 
lings— the  great,  the  strong,  the  beautiful — are  not  children  of  our 
law ; do  not  come  out  of  the  Sunday-School,  nor  weigh  their  food, 
nor  punctually  keep  the  Commandments.” 


Emerson. 


TWO  MEN 


CHAPTER  I. 

When  Jason  Auster  married  Sarah  Parke  he  was 
twenty  years  old,  and  a house-carpenter.  As  he  was 
not  of  age,  he  made  some  agreement'  with  a hard  father 
by  which  liberty  was  gained,  and  a year’s  wages  lost. 
He  left  his  native  village  filled  with  no  adventurous 
spirit,  but  with  a simple  confidence  that  he  should  find 
the  place  where  he  could  earn  a living  by  his  trade,  and 
put  in  practice  certain  theories  concerning  the  rights  of 
men  and  property  which  had  already  made  him  a pest 
at  home.  The  stage-coach  which  conveyed  him  thence, 
traversed  a line  of  towns  that  made  no  impression  from 
his  point  of  view — the  coach  window ; but  when  it  stop- 
ped to  change  horses  at  Crest,  a lively  maritime  town, 
and  he  alighted  to  stretch  his  cramped  legs,  he  saluted 
Destiny.  Its  aspect,  that  spring  day,  pleased  him ; he 
heard  the  rain  of  blows  from  broad-axes  in  the  ship- 
yards by  the  water’s  edge,  and  saw  new  roofs  and 
chimneys  rising  along  the  irregular  streets  among  the 
rows  of  ancient  houses,  and  concluded  to  stay.  He  un- 
strapped a small  trunk  from  the  stage-rack,  carried  it 
into  the  tavern  entry,  and  looked  about  him  for  some 
one  to  address.  A man  who  had  been  eying  the  trunk 


8 


TWO  MEN. 


advanced  towards  him  with  a resolutely  closed  mouth, 
and  hands  concealed  in  his  pockets. 

“Do  you  keep  this  tavern?”  Jason  asked;  “and  do 
you  want  a hoarder  ?” 

“ Yes  siree,”  the  man  replied,  in  a loud  cheerful  voice. 

“ What  is  hoard  now  ?” 

“ Three  dollars  per  week.” 

“ I think  I will  stop  here.  My  name  is  Auster.” 

“ I agree ; hut  mayhe  you  had  rather  go  to  the  other 
tavern  where  they  sell  liquor,  with  flies  in  it.  I keep  a 
temperance  house.” 

“ Good,”  answered  Jason,  pulling  off  his  overcoat.  “ I 
have  got  a temperance  lecture  in  my  trunk ; I wrote  it 
last  winter.  I’ll  lend  it  to  you  to  read.” 

“ I ain’t  much  of  a hand  at  reading  handwriting,”  the 
tavern-keeper  replied  with  a dubious  look ; hut  catching 
sight  of  Jason’s  carpenter’s  rule,  his  face  brightened. 
“Guess  you  are  a carpenter,”  he  exclaimed;  “just  the 
place  for  you.  We  are  growing  like  the  mischief  since 
whale-oil  is  so  high.” 

The  arrangement  for  board  was  concluded,  and  Jason 
began  life  in  Crest  with  ten  dollars,  two  suits  of  clothes, 
and  a few  articles,  which  consisted  of  several  shirts,  two 
hooks  whose  titles  were  “Man’s  Social  Destiny,”  and 
“Humanity  in  Limbo,”  a pin-cushion  with  Forget  Me 
Not  embroidered  upon  it,  and  the  temperance  lecture. 

Before  night  he  had  taken  the  bearings  of  Crest,  and 
was  satisfied  that  he  had  made  a good  choice.  The  week 
following  he  sent  to  a boss-carpenter  a novel  design  for 
mantle-pieces,  which  proved  the  means  of  an  engage- 
ment to  work  with  a gang  on  the  inside  of  a Congrega- 
tional church  about  to  be  built.  With  the  whistling  of 


TWO  MEN. 


9 


his  plane  he  began  to  air  his  theories  of  Socialism,  Abo- 
litionism, and  Teetotalism,  and  amused  his  fellow-work- 
men,  who  never  mistrusted  that  he  intended  to  be 
believed,  or  that  he  was  in  earnest,  for  his  manners  be- 
lied his  words.  He  appeared  shy,  cold,  and  indifferent, 
self-forgetful,  and  forgetful  of  others. 

As  the  church  progressed  it  became  a place  of  resort, 
especially  in  the  fine  summer  afternoons,  when  groups  of 
young  women  perambulated  the  aisles,  sat  in  the  door- 
less pews,  or  hung  over  the  unfinished  gallery.  One  day 
two  ladies  went  up  the  pulpit  stairs,  while' Jason  was  at 
work  on  its  moulding  below ; looking  up  to  caution  them 
against  stepping  on  certain  loose  boards  in  the  flooring, 
he  saw  that  he  was  too  late,  for  the  lady  in  advance  was 
already  half  in  the  cavity  under  the  floor,  and  only  kept 
herself  up  by  a clutch  on  the  desk.  Jason  bounded  up  the 
stairs  and  extricated  her  ; as  he  did  this  he  heard  a shrill 
laugh  from  her  companion,  which  made  him  laugh  too. 

“ I wish  it  had  been  you,  Sarah  Parke,”  she  exclaimed. 
“ Thank  you,  sir,”  she  said  stiffly  to  Jason,  without  look- 
ing at  him. 

“ You  are  welcome  to  my  help,”  he  answered  quietly. 
“ Of  course, I owed  it  to  you.”  And  he  returned  to  his 
work. 

“Who  was  the  black-eyed  girl  that  didn’t  fall  in?” 
he  asked  of  one  of  the  workmen,  named  John  Davis. 

“ Squire  Parke’s  grand-daughter,”  he  answered.  “ It 
would  be  worth  your  while  to  walk  into  her  affections ; 
but  she  don’t  look  at  carpenters,  I tell  you.” 

“She  looked  at  me,”  Jason  said  grandly. 

“How  could  she  help  it?”  replied  John  satirically; 
“you  have  got  such  eyes  !” 


10 


TWO  MEN 


“ Why  shouldn’t  she  look  at  carpenters  ?”  Jason  per- 
sisted. 

“ The  Parke  family  are  next  to  the  Lord,  in  this  coun- 
ty, though  it  is  not  what  it  was  once.  One  of  ’em 
knocked  off  his  heel-tap  on  Plymouth  Rock  the  day  the 
Pilgrims  came  ashore ; one  of  ’em  was  a governor ; one 
of  ’em  settled  here — cheated  the  Indians,  I guess,  out 
of  the  pine  woods  that  belong  still  to  the  old  Squire,  and 
died  universally  unlamented.  I never  heard  any  good 
of  the  name,  nor  any  thing  so  very  bad.  There’s  a 
streak  in  the  family;  one  or  two  in  every  generation 
are  all  streak — which  means  that  they  go  to  the  devil. 
I must  say  though,  that  most  people  have  a good  word 
for  the  old  Squire;  he  ain’t  meddlesome.  I wonder 
what  has  come  over  this  Sarah  lately  ? I see  her  about 
with  folks,  as  if  she  was  tired  of  being  by  herself.” 

“ The  Parkes,  I take  it,  have  not  understood  the  cor- 
rect balance  between  Man  and  Wealth.” 

“ Oh  yes,  they  have,  and  have  got  all  the  wealth  from 
every  man  they  ever  had  any  dealings  with !” 

“ Such  men  delay  the  progress  of  social  harmony.” 

“ Speaking  of  harmony,  will  you  go  to  the  sing  to- 
night, with  all  hands  ? Miss  Jane  Moss,  the  girl  you 
pulled  up  from  the  pulpit  just  now,  is  the  head-singer  in 
our  choir.  I sit  behind  her  in  the  gallery,  and  pass  cloves 
and  cardamom  seeds  over  to  her  every  Sunday.” 

“ What  are  you  going  to  sing  ?” 

“We  are  getting  ready  for  the  Dedication.” 

“ If  you  will  come  round  to  the  tavern  for  me,  I’ll  go.” 

John  consented,  and,  at  seven  o’clock,  made  his  ap- 
pearance dressed  in  his  best,  and  found  J ason  in  his  best 
also.  But  notwithstanding  the  change  of  clothes,  thero 


TWO  MEN. 


li 


was  a strong  piney  odor  about  them ; also  a dryness  of 
complexion,  a roughness  of  hair  and  whiskers,  and  a 
cracked  condition  of  the  hands,  which  suggested  beams, 
boards,  and  shavings.  Jason  had  been  nicknamed  “ The 
Lath.”  The  physiognomy  of  “The  Lath”  promised  to 
be  interesting,  if  the  soul  should  ever  awaken ; eyes  of 
light  blue,  fringed  with  thick  black  lashes,  now  some- 
what vague  and  wandering,  would  then  flash  with  con- 
quering power,  or  diffuse,  tender,  appealing  rays.  At 
present,  Jason  was  not  handsome ; neither  was  there 
any  fascination  in  his  bearing,  attitudes,  gestures,  or 
speech. 

He  did  not  confess  on  his  way  to  the  singing-meeting 
that  he  knew  nothing  of  music,  but  when  he  arrived 
took  a seat  among  the  singers,  and  turned  the  leaves  of 
his  music-book  at  the  proper  instant.  Opposite  him,  in 
the  place  of  honor,  sat  Jane  Moss  and  Sarah  Parke;  he 
soon  discovered  that  Sarah  was  no  more  of  a singer  than 
himself,  though  her  lips  moved,  and  her  eyes  followed 
the  notes.  She  looked  at  him  in  the  middle  of  a pro- 
longed “Amen,”  and  perceived  that  he  understood  the 
sham;  she  turned  her  head  away  to  conceal  a smile, 
turned  back  again,  and  learned,  as  the  choir  burst  out 
again,  that  he  was  an  accomplice  in  her  fraud. 

John  Davis  informed  him,  when  the  meeting  broke 
up,  that  he  had  about  made  up  his  mind  to  ask  Jane 
Moss  if  he  might  escort  her  home,  though  he  didn’t 
know  but  that  it  would  make  her  mad. 

“Go  in,”  said  Jason;  “I’ll  support  you.” 

John,  with  a stiff  “Good-evening,”  thrust  his  elbow 
out  before  Jane,  and  she  condescendingly  placed  her 
hand  inside  it.  A moment  after,  Jason  was  introduced 


12 


TWO  MEN. 


to  Sarah,  and  shook  hands  with  her  modestly,  and 
walked  beside  her  without  attempting  conversation ; he 
waited  for  her  to  address  him.  His  deportment  was  so 
unexceptionable,  that  when  he  left  her  at  her  door,  she 
expressed  a hope  of  meeting  him  again. 

It  was  known  in  Crest  soon  after  that  Jason  had  called 
at  Squire  Parke’s.  Then  it  was  rumored  that  he  spent 
whole  evenings  there,  playing  backgammon  with  Sarah? 
or  whist  with  the  Squire.  And  finally  the  town  was 
surprised  to  hear  that  Jason  and  Sarah  were  to  be  mar- 
ried. It  charitably  said  that  she  must  be  bewitched  to 
marry  a poor  carpenter,  and  that  he  knew  which  side 
his  bread  was  buttered  on,  but  that  he  might  not  find  it 
so  pleasant  to  go  up  in  the  world  after  all.  But  it  was 
not  allowed  to  be  present  at  the  marriage  ceremony, 
which  was  performed  one  evening  in  the  Squire’s  west 
parlor.  Two  persons  besides  the  minister  were  present ; 
the  Squire  and  Elsa  Bowen,  the  housekeeper.  The. next 
morning  Jason  took  his  place  at  the  breakfast-table,  as 
an  inmate  of  the  family.  The  household  consisted  now 
of  six  persons ; the  Squire,  Sarah,  his  grand-daughter, 
Elsa  Bowen,  a middle-aged  woman  who  had  lived  with 
the  second  wife  of  the  Squire  for  years,  as  housekeeper, 
friend,  and  fourth  cousin,  a hired  man,  “ Cuth,”  who 
had  been  in  the  Squire’s  employ  from  a boy,  a youth 
named  Gilbert,  and  Jason  himself. 


TWO  MEN. 


13 


CHAPTER  II. 

Squire  Parke  had  had  two  wives  and  two  children. 
They  were  dead.  His  first  wife  gave  birth  to  a son  in 
the  second  year  of  his  marriage,  and  died  shortly  after- 
wards. In  a year  from  the  time  of  her  death  he  married 
another  wife,  who  bore  him  a daughter,  and  lived  till 
three  years  before  Jason’s  arrival  in  Crest.  The  son 
and  daughter  by  the  different  wives  grew  up,  married, 
and  died,  each  leaving  a child,  a boy  and  a girl,  to  the 
care  of  their  grandfather,  the  Squire.  The  girl  had  just 
become  Sarah  Auster,  and  the  boy,  Osmond  Luce,  was  in 
parts  unknown.  As  soon  as  his  grandmother  was  buried 
he  announced  his  determination  to  leave  home,  and  al- 
though the  Squire  cried  and  reproached  him  for  being 
like  his  uncle,  Sarah’s  father,  who  had  deserted  home 
years  ago,  Osmond  persisted  in  his  resolution.  He  must 
have  freedom,  he  said ; he  had  paid  his  respects  to  the 
family  myths  long  enough,  and  he  would  transfer  the 
duty  to  Sarah,  who  believed  in  them,  and  whose  author- 
ity with  them  would  more  than  compensate  for  the  loss 
of  himself. 

“You  think  so?”  queried  Elsa  Bowen,  who  was  pres- 
ent when  he  opened  the  subject. 

Osmond  gave  a look  which  silenced  her,  till  the  Squire 
rose,  struck  his  cane  on  the  floor,  and  with  an  emphatic 
“ Go,”  left  the  room ; then  she  burst  out  with,  “ You’d 


14 


TWO  MEN. 


better  try  your  luck  with  Sarah ; she  won’t  take  it  so 

easy.” 

“ I am  glad  you  are  on  hand  to  do  up  the  croaking, 
Elsa.” 

“ Yes,  you  will  find  me  here,  and  at  it,  after  many  a 
long  year  of  your  devil’s  wanderings.  What  do  you 
suppose  became  of  your  Uncle  Osmond  ?” 

“ 6 His  bones  are  whitening  the  caverns  of  the  deep.’ — 
'Washington  Irving .” 

“ Maybe.” 

Osmond  rumpled  his  long,  thin  curls  into  a light 
mass,  and  said,  “ I shall  present  myself  as  the  fretful 
porcupine  who  mustn’t  be  opposed.  Where  is  she  ?” 

“ It  will  be  more  like  if  you  go  as  a weasel.  I shan’t 
tell  you  where  she  is.” 

He  knew  better  than  Elsa  how  Sarah  would  take  the 
news  of  his  departure,  but  he  carried  them  to  her  with 
a reckless  audacity  that  would  have  silenced  any  ordi- 
nary opposition.  But  Sarah  was  not  an  ordinary  per- 
son ; a conflict  took  place  which  left  both  torn,  bleeding, 
breathless ; in  one  sense,  however,  he  was  the  conqueror, 
for  he  went  away  in  spite  of  it.  The  Squire  sent  him 
out  in  a vessel  loaded  with  merchandise  for  some  South- 
ern port ; the  cargo  was  sold,  and  Osmond,  taking  the 
proceeds,  left  the  port  to  go  further  South.  Nothing 
had  been  heard  of  him  since  the  vessel  returned.  For  a 
time  the  Squire  spoke  of  him  as  one  not  far  away ; then 
Elsa  noticed  that  he  began  to  relate  the  anecdotes  she 
had  heard  him  repeat  in  connection  with  his  own  son, 
Osmond  Parke,  confounding  them  with  the  childhood 
of  Osmond  Luce ; in  her  mind  it  was  a sign  that  the 
old  man  had  given  him  up,  and  that  he  was  as  good 


TWO  MEN. 


15 


as  buried.  In  Sarah’s  mind  his  image  was  no.t  confused. 
As  a banner  floats  in  the  wind,  he  was  ever  floating  be- 
fore her  mental  vision,  with  his  hundred  flitting  expres- 
sions of  wrath,  mirth,  and  recklessness;  but  she  never 
spoke  of  him.  Once  Elsa  went  to  a chest  where  some 
of  his  clothes  were  packed,  to  see  if  they  were  damp ; 
dampness,  according  to  a superstition  in  Crest,  being  the 
proof  of  a seafaring  man’s. death  by  drowning.  When 
she  told  Sarah  they  were  as  dry  as  a bone,  she  looked 
agitated,  and  begged  her  never  to  speak  of  them  again. 

After  Sarah’s  child  was  born  she  spoke  of  Osmond  for 
the  first  time  to  Jason,  as  a half-cousin,  who  bore  no  re- 
semblance in  character  or  looks  to  herself.  He  was  the 
only  one,  she  said,  who  had  any  claim  on  her  grand- 
father’s property,  that  might  ever  trouble  them.  She 
doubted  whether  he  would  ever  come  back,  for  the 
Parkes  who  had  deserted  Crest  never  returned.  There 
was  a hectic  flush  on  her  high  cheek-bones  after  this 
conversation,  but  Jason  did  not  observe  it. 

She  named  her  boy  “ Parke.”  He  was  a Parke,  every 
inch  of  him,  she  remarked  to  Jason,  and  asked  him  to 
notice  how  much  his  hands  were  shaped  like  her  grand- 
father’s. She  might  have  added  that  they  were  like 
Osmond’s,  too.  Jason  looked  at  his  own  hands  instead, 
and' shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ Do  you  consider  yourself  a Parke  ?”  he  asked. 

“I  am  like  my  mother,”  she  answered  sharply. 

Jason  examined  her  face  as  if  he  intended  to  make  a 
study  of  race,  and  then  looked  at  the  baby  experimen- 
tally. 

“ What  does  the  Squire  think  of  him  ?”  he  asked. 

“ What  you  do,  I suppose.” 


16 


TWO  MEN. 


The  thump  of  a cane  was  heard,  and  Sarah  said, 
“ Here  he  comes,  you  can  ask  him.” 

But  he  only  smiled  when  the  Squire  entered  and 
stood  by  the  cradle,  and  before  he  spoke  Jason  was 
gone. 

If  Sarah  had  been  imaginative  she  might  have  mused 
on  the  picture  before  her — baby  Parke,  aged  three 
weeks,  and  the  Squire,  eighty-four  years.  As  she  was 
not,  she  inquired  which  bin  in  the  cellar  Cuth  had  put 
the  potatoes  in. 

“Yah,  yah,  Sally;  whatever  bin  Cuth  has  put  the 
potatoes  in  is  the  right  one.” 

“ Grandpa,  Cuth  does  what  he  likes  with  you.” 

“ So,  give  me  a coal,  Sally.” 

She  held  one  in  the  tongs  for  him  to  light  his  pipe, 
and  then  moved  her  chair  near  him.  His  face  was  never 
so  pleasant  as  when  he  was  smoking,  and  she  loved  to 
look  at  it.  He  scattered  ashes  over  his  double-breasted 
waistcoat,  and  sparks  dropped  on  his  pantaloons,  but 
she  did  not  venture  to  brush  them  off,  because  it  would 
have  annoyed  him.  The  serenity  of  his  mien,  the  result 
of  a wonderful  selfishness,  was  always  her  envy  and  ad- 
miration. She  thought  him  one  of  the  best  men  in  the 
world,  because  he  generally  allowed  people  their  own 
way, — provided  their  way  did  not  cross  his.  He  was 
an  amiable  host  to  all  the  virtues,  but  he  never  sought 
their  society. 

“ When  are  you  going  to  comb  my  hair  again  ?”  he 
asked. 

“ Why,  Grandpa,  hasn’t  Elsa  combed  it  ?” 

“ Elsa  has  been  like  a gale  of  wind  in  the  house  since 
you  have  been  shut  up.” 


TWO  MEN. 


17 


“ Why  didn’t  you  check  her  ?” 

“ I should,  if  I had  been  too  much  in  the  draft.” 

She  combed  his  long  silvery  locks  till  she  was  ready 
to  faint  with  fatigue,  and  till  Parke  woke  up  with  a cry. 
When  he  was  hushed  the  old  man  fell  asleep  in  his  chair, 
and  his  slumber  was  quiet,  dreamless,  and  deep  as  the 
child’s  beside  him. 


18 


TWO  MEN. 


CHAPTER  III. 

When  Jason  saw  Sarah’s  executive  ability  as  the 
mistress  and  manager  of  her  grandfather’s  establish- 
ment, in  doors  and  out,  and  comprehended  the  absolute 
position  of  the  Squire,  he  felt  the  impotence  of  his  crude 
ideas,  and  his  individual  isolation.  Nothing  practical 
could  be  done  in  the  way  of  equal  rights  with  the 
Squire’s  garden,  orchard,  woodland,  mills,  houses,  and 
ships,  presided  over  and  governed  by  the  arbitrary  wills 
of  such  a man  and  such  a woman.  The  prestige  of  pos- 
session dazzled  his  view  of  the  tenth  point  of  the  law, 
and  he  fell  down  among  the  “nine-holes”  of  the  game, 
which  is  an  inscrutable  one  to  those  who  do  not  hold  a 
hand  in  it.  He  did  therefore  what  most  men  do,  when 
suddenly  ushered  from  one  sphere  to  another, — ruled  his 
actions  according  to  the  circumstances  he  was  placed  in. 
Now  and  then  he  made  use  of  the  phrases  which  be- 
longed to  his  smouldered  theories.  When  Sarah  re- 
quested him  to  give  up  his  trade,  he  replied  that  it  was 
better  to  be  a carpenter  than  to  live  by  the  extortions 
of  commerce,  or  an  undue  proportion  of  land ; whereat 
she  laughed  so  loud  he  discovered  that  some  of  her  teeth 
were  as  sharp-pointed  as  needles,  and  that  they  gave  her 
a tigerish  look.  His  connection  simply  w;th  the  Squire 
permitted  him  to  make  up  his  own  hand  in  the  game  he 
thought  he  despised.  Contracts  were  obtained  on  the 


TWO  MEN. 


19 


strength  of  it  which  brought  him  money,  and  at  the  end 
of  three  years  he  was  the  owner  of  several  stores  and 
houses,  planned  by  himself,  which  paid  a better  rent 
than  any  of  the  Squire’s  buildings.  In  the  beginning 
of  his  enterprises  he  seemed  the  same  to  his  acquaint- 
ances. They  joked  with  him,  and  laughed  at  him;  but 
the  jokes  grew  few,  and  the  laughs  faint.  Finally  no 
one  ventured  to  be  familiar  with  him,  except  John  Davis, 
who  was  now  married  to  Jane  Moss. 

From  the  day  that  Jason  entered  the  family  he  suf- 
fered from  an  intangible  something  in  the  Squire’s  bear- 
ing which  deprived  him  of  his  natural  demeanor,  and 
made  him  feel,  by  contrast,  unfinished,  awkward,  inca- 
pable. Whatever  the  influence  was,  he  succumbed  to 
it,  and  its  effect  lasted  long ; in  fact,  the  Squire  was  the 
first  potter  that  kneaded  Jason’s  clay. 

The  fourth  year  of  his  marriage  came,  and  the  Squire 
still  lived;  he  went  his  daily  rounds  over  his  possessions 
in  his  chaise,  accompanied  by  Cuth,  smoked,  dozed, 
played  with  little  Parke,  and  listened  affably  to  all 
Sarah  had  to  say.  It  was  the  calmest,  most  satisfying 
period  of  her  life;  Jason  was  no  trouble  to  her,  no  in- 
convenience to  the  Squire,  and  not  an  object  of  interest 
to  his  boy,  beyond  the  knowledge  that  he  was  to  be 
called  “ father.” 

The  thread  of  the  Squire’s  life,  strong  as  it  seemed, 
snapped  suddenly  at  last.  In  the  early  morning  of  an 
autumn  day,  Sarah,  always  up  betimes,  heard  a strange 
babbling  noise  as  she  passed  his  door.  She  opened  it, 
and  went  to  his  bedside,  and  saw  that  the  “ Shadow 
feared  of  man”  had  come. 

“ Grandpa,”  she  whispered,  terror-struck. 


# 

20  TWO  MEN. 

He  knew  her,  and  with  one  trembling  hand, — the 
other  was  paralyzed, — drew  her  face  against  his,  and 
vainly  tried  to  speak.  His  tongue  was  paralyzed  also ; 
tears  burst  from  his  dim  eyes, — the  only  speech  that  was 
left  him, — and  they  wrung  her  to  the  soul.  She  released 
herself  and  ran  to  the  kitchen — Elsa  was  not  yet  down 
stairs — then  to  the  barnyard  for  Cuth. 

“My  soul,”  said  Cuth,  rising  from  his  milking-pail, 
when  he  saw  her  flying  towards  him,  “ what  is  it  ?” 

“ He  is  going,  Cuth  ; run  for  the  doctor.” 

“ Mr.  Auster  ? ” stammered  Cuth. 

“ Grandpa,”  she  shrieked. 

“ It  can’t  be ; I’ve  known  him  forty  year.  But  I’ll 
go.  What  do  you  think  it  is  ?” 

“ It  is  death.” 

Cuth  shook  his  head,  as  he  started  on  a swinging  trot, 
and  said  to  himself,  “ Numb  palsy — I give  him  up.”  He 
stopped  every  person  he  met,  without  stopping  himself, 
to  say  that  the  Squire  had  had  a shock,  and  before  J ason 
heard  of  it,  it  was  spread  through  the  town. 

When  Sarah  went  back,  Elsa  was  busy  making  a fire. 

“ What  upon  earth  ails  you,  Sarah  Auster  ?”  she  ex- 
claimed. 

Sarah  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  into  the 
Squire’s  bedroom,  and  Elsa  understood  all. 

“ He’ll  last  over  to-day,”  she  said  presently ; “ see  how 
well  he  breathes.” 

Sarah  dropped  on  the  floor  beside  him,  and  buried  her 
face  in  the  bedclothes.  He  began  to  babble  again.  Elsa 
slipped  out  and  went  up  to  Jason’s  room. 

“Mr.  Auster,”  she  said,  putting  her  head  in  at  the 
door,  “ the  Squire  is  struck  with  death.” 


TWO  MEN. 


21 


“ Death,”  he  muttered,  starting  from  a sound  sleep. 

“Easy  though,  almost  as  easy  as  your  nap.  The 
neighbors  will  be  flocking  in  now.  Can  you  dress 
Parke?  I’ve  got  to  go  right  down  again,  and  Sarah 
won’t  think  of  any  thing,  except  her  grandfather.” 

“ What  are  the  neighbors  coming  in  for  ?” 

“ Don’t  be  droll,”  she  said,  closing  the  door. 

Jason  dressed,  and  sat  down  by  Parke’s  crib.  He 
softly  touched  his  beautiful  hair,  and  put  his  finger  in- 
side his  little  hand,  which  closed  upon  it  with  a clinging 
grasp.  He  counted  the  network  of  delicate  veins  in 
his  fair  temples,  and  watched  the  tranquil  motion  of  his 
white  bosom.  Then  carefully  covering  himjjpb  went 
down  to  the  kitchen.  The  outside  doors  were  already 
open,  and  people  were  lingering  about  and  talking  4o 
each  other  in  subdued  voices. 

“ The  doctor  has  come,”  said  Elsa,  motioning  him  to- 
ward the  bedroom. 

“Gilbert,”  said  Jason,  giving  his  first  order,  “go  up 
stairs  and  watch  Parke.” 

“Nothing  can  be  done,”  he  heard  the  doctor  say  as 
he  entered  the  bedroom.  Sarah’s  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  Squir^  face,  and  she  made  no  reply  to  him. 

“ Why^Mrs.  Auster,”  he  continued,  testily,  “ would 
you  never  be  willing  to  part  with  him  ?” 

“Sarah,”  said  Jason,  in  a firm  voice,  that  compelled 
her  attention,  “ your  grandfather  is  leaving  life  without 
suffering.” 

“He  is  going  out  like  a candle,”  added  the  doctor, 
pinching  his  fingers  together  as  if  they  were  snuffers. 

“No  link  now,”  she  muttered;  “and  where  is  the 
other  end  of  the  chain,  grandpa  ?” 


22 


TWO  MEN. 


The  doctor  rasped  his  chin,  and  looked  at  Jason,  who 
wore  a stolid  expression. 

“ Come,  Sarah,”  called  Elsa,  “ come  to  breakfast,  do. 
There’s  no  use  in  putting  off  meals;  they  will  come 
round,  and  they  must  be  eaten.  Come,  now ; the  neigh- 
bors are  here,  longing  to  do  something  for  you.” 

“ Come,”  said  Jason,  raising  her  from  her  knees. 

As  she  turned  he  met  her  eyes ; there  was  a wild  look 
in  them,  which  stirred  his  pity.  He  made  a motion  as 
if  to  put  his  arm  round  her,  but  she  glided  by  him,  and 
went  over  to  the  table  alone.  When  she  returned, 
Jason  went  up  stairs  to  release  Gilbert.  Parke  was 
awake,  in  high  glee. 

“ Go  away,  father  Jason,”  he  screamed,  “ and  let  me 
dffcss  myself.” 

“ Be  good,  for  grandpa  is  sick.” 

“ Then  I am  sick,”  he  replied,  getting  into  his  crib 
again,  and  shutting  his  eyes. 

“Do  you  know  that  there  are  lots  of  people  down 
stairs  ?” 

“1ST o,”  Parke  answered,  hopping  out  on  one  foot. 
“ Tell  me  about  it,  and  you  may  dress  me.  But  you 
can’t  wash  my  face ; if  lots  of  people  are  h^p,  I won’t 
stop  to  have  my  face  washed.” 

After  he  was  dressed,  he  insisted  on  being  taken  down 
stairs  on  Jason’s  shoulder,  and  having  his  breakfast 
handed  up  to  him  on  his  perch,  and  tried  to  balance  his 
plate  on  Jason’s  head. 

“ Where’s  my  mother  ? ” he  asked ; “ there  hasn’t  any- 
body kissed  me  yet.” 

“ Go  to  her,”  said  his  father ; “ she  is  in  the  bedroom.” 

Sarah  heard  the  patter  of  his  feet,  and  rose  to  lead 
him  to  the  bed.  “ Poor  grandpa,”  she  said. 


TWO  MEN. 


23 


“ He  isn’t  poor,”  said  Parke.  “ Why  don’t  he  get  up  ?” 

The  chintz  bed-curtains,  on  which  was  printed  a fox- 
chase,  in  red  and  white,  attracted  him,  as  they  had  done 
a hundred  times.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and 
tooted  in  imitation  of  the  huntsmen,  and  cried  “gee-up” 
to  the  galloping  horses.  The  Squire  began  to  babble 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  which  made  him  turn  away 
frightened,  and  beg  his  mother  to  let  him  go. 

“ Will  you  kiss  grandpa  once  more  ?” 

“No,  not  now,  but  to-morrow.”  ^ 

She  put  him  down  outside  the  door,  and  he  ran  back 
to  Jason,  who  amused  him  all  day  by  whittling  boats, 
animals,  and  uncouth  toys,  with  which  they  played 
together.  . # 

“ Dear  me,”  said  Elsa,  who  was  by  no  means  melan- 
choly, “ how  little  that  child  realizes  what  is  going  on.” 

Jason  smiled.  “ Would  you  have  him  howl  ?” 

“ Hadn’t  he  ought  to  have  a realizing  sense  of  death  ?” 

“ Never,  if  possible.” 

At  dusk  the  doctor  pronounced  the  Squire’s  life  to  be 
ebbing  fast ; he  would  go  before  morning.  Elsa  imme- 
diately went  all  over  the  house  and  changed  the  order 
of  the  furniture.  The  chairs  were  placed  in  rows,  and 
all  small  articles  were  moved  into  the  closets.  It  was 
the  third  time,  she  soliloquized,  that  she  had  shoved 
things  about  for  a funeral  since  she  had  been  in  the 
house ; the  first  happened  ten  years  ago,  and  was  that 
of  Sarah’s  mother,  the  wife  of  Osmond  Parke,  and  if  ever 
there  was  a creature  ready  to  go,  she  was.  “ I ain’t  so 
mad,”  concluded  Elsa,  “ as  I was  then.  • It  did  me  good 
to  hustle  the  furniture  round,  and  wish  it  was  that  vil- 
lain Osmond  Parke,  who  was  alive  somewhere,  we 


24 


TWO  MEN. 


thought ; though  we  hadn’t  seen  him  for  years.”  Hav- 
ing finished  her  work,  she  closed  the  shutters  on  the 
front  of  the  house,  and  opened  wide  all  the  doors.  “ If 
his  old  spirit,” — she  muttered,  meaning  the  Squire’s, — 
“ wants  to  take  a turn,  to  see  if  things  are  according  to 
his  ideas,  he  is  welcome  to  do  so.”  She  then  retired  in 
a peaceful  frame  of  mind,  after  having  read  some  pas- 
sages in  the  Bible,  which  reminded  her  of  the  vanity  of 
the  world,  and  contained  the  text,  “ What  profit  hath  a 
man  of  all  his  labor  which  he  taketh  under  the  sun  ?” 

Cuth  remained  in  the  kitchen  as  a watcher;  Jason 
took  care  of  Parke,  up  stairs,  and  Sarah  stayed  alone 
with  the  Squire.  She  was  tormented  by  irrelevant 
thoughts,  which  Sie  constantly  checked  by  a strained 
attention  to  his  breath,  which  grew  more  and  more 
difficult. 

About  four  o’clock,  he  spoke  clearly,  but  hurriedly, 
and  without  a motion,  these  words : 

“ It  all  comes  to  this,  Sarah.” 

She  bent  over  him,  and  he  was  dead. 

For  an  instant,  while  she  looked  upon  the  calm  face, 
from  which  Life  had  fled,  and  Death  assumed  its  mask, 
she  felt  as  if  her  soul  was  poised  on  the  wings  of  the 
spirit  going  heavenward.  It  was  the  first  and  the  last 
sublime  moment  of  her  life. 

Suddenly  she  recollected  that  there  were  no  more 
Farkes,  and  she  felt  a pang  because  she  waS  a woman, 
and  had  been  obliged  to  change  her  name. 

“ It  comes  to  this,”  she  repeated,  “ either  way.”  She 
called  softly  to  Cuth,  and  told  him  that  it  was  over. 

“ I know  it,  marm,  I know  it,”  he  answered.  “ Give 
me  your  hand.”  He  shook  it,  patted  her  shoulder,  and 


TWO  MEN. 


25 


continued : “ Go  to  your  bed,  marm ; I’ve  known  him 
forty  year,  and  I’ve  a right  to  get  him  ready,  and  stay 
by  him;  and  I am  a-going  to.” 

She  yielded  the  wish. 

The  funeral  took  place  in  three  days,  in  the  forenoon. 
People  came  from  far  and  near  to  see  the  burial  of  the 
last  of  his  name.  Cuth  took  a solemn  pleasure  in  the 
occasion;  he  crammed  the  horses  that  brought  the  fu- 
neral guests  with  oats,  and  cursed  Gilbert’s  mischief  in 
exceeding  the  order  he  gave  him  to  mark  the  carriages 
and  harness,  with  their  owners’  names  upon  them  in 
chalk.  The  spectators  of  the  long  funeral  procession 
had  the  gratification  of  knowing  that  “ Capt.  Smith, 
A 1,”  rode  in  one  of  the  carriages,  and  “Mr.  Brown, 
B 2,”  in  another,  and  so  on  through  the  line.  Elsa  in  a 
lustrous  black  silk  and  blonde  cap  poured  numberless 
cups  of  tea  and  coffee  that  day,  and  cut  many  slices  of 
ham  and  loaf-cake.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before 
* the  house  was  emptied  of  visitors,  and  then  a dreadful 
blank  was  felt  which  neither  Jason  nor  Sarah  could  en- 
dure. She  wrapped  Parke  in  a shawl,  and  took  him 
into  the  garden.  Behind  it,  and  beyond  the  orchard,  a 
hill  rose,  whose  side  towards  the  town  was  shaded  by  a 
few  tawny  crooked  cedars,  and  whose  top  was  covered 
by  a small  grove  of  oaks  and  a brushy  heap  of  rocks. 
Parke  begged  to  go  up  there,  and  she  carried  him  in 
her  arms. 

“ Oh,  the  red  water !”  he  cried,  as  she  placed  him  on  a 
rock,  “ and  the  red  sky,  mother.  God  is  burning  up,  I 
am  afraid.” 

“ It  is  only  the  sunset,  Parke,”  and  she  began  to  cry 
as  she  had  not  cried  since  the  Squire  died.  She  was 

3 


26 


TWO  MEN. 


unmindful  of  the  beautiful  bay,  whose  wide  limits  could 
be  seen  from  the  hill-top, — of  the  splendid  western  sky, 
of  the  red  harvest  moon  rising  in  the  gray  east,  of  the 
swallows  circling  round  the  hill,  of  the  faint  columns  of 
smoke  ascending  from  the  chimneys  of  the  town, — un- 
mindful even  of  Parke,  who,  regardlesss  of  her  weeping, 
slipped  down  from  the  rock,  and  played  among  the  fallen 
leaves.  A cool  wind  came  moaning  round  them,  and 
the  sky  darkened;  he  began  to  count  the  stars,  and 
there  were  not  so  many  of  them  as  there  were  tears  on 
his  mother’s  handkerchief.  She  wiped  her  eyes,  caught 
him  up,  and  said  they  must  go  back  to  supper.  Elsa 
had  it  ready.  Extra  lamps  were  lighted  and  set  on  the 
table.  There  should  be,  she  said,  no  gloomy  corners 
that  night  for  Sarah’s  eyes  to  wander  in.  She  wished, 
though,  that  she  had  made  Mrs.  Rogers  stay ; she  might 
have  occupied  that  empty  chair,  and  once  occupied,  its 
being  set  against  the  wall  afterwards  would  not  b^ 
noticed.  Jason  had  not  yet  come  in,  but  she  insisted  on 
serving  tea ; he  could  have  his  at  any  hour ; he  wouldn’t 
remark  whether  it  was  cold  or  hot.  She  seemed  to  be 
over  and  in  every  dish,  with  a comfortable  bustle  which 
exhilarated  Parke  and  soothed  Sarah. 

Jason  was  plodding  the  beach  which  skirted  the  south 
part  of  the  town.  As  he  watched  the*  heaving  waters 
creeping  towards  him  in  the  moonlight,  a thought  of  the 
Eternity  which  was  eternally  creeping  towards  men 
came  to  him. 

“By  my  soul,”  he  said,  “it  is  beautiful,  though.” 

He  threw  a pebble  into  the  sea. 

“ As  easy  as  that,  a man  sinks  there.  But  if  there  is 
light,  motion,  color  as  there  is  here,  I shall  like  Eternity.” 


TWO  MEK. 


27 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  Squire  left  no  will.  Sarah  informed  Jason  of  the 
fact  when  she  felt  obliged  to  call  upon  him  for  aid; 
until  she  did  he  asked  no  question  concerning  the  prop- 
erty,— then  he  assumed  the  whole  control  of  it.  He 
was  months  in  mastering  its  details.  There  were  no 
debts,  but  it  was  widely  scattered,  and  existed  in  a 
variety  of  forms ; that  part  of  it  situated  in  Crest  was 
the  least  productive,  and  therefore  he  sold  it.  This  was 
considered  as  a thorough  break-up  in  the  town  of  the 
family  interest,  and  Sarah  winced  more  than  once  at  his 
innovations ; but  believing  in  his  plain  sense,  and  that 
he  was  probably  considering  Parke’s  future,  she  com- 
pelled herself  not  to  interfere.  When  he  laid  the  sched- 
ule of  what  he  had  retained  before  her,  and  the  amount 
of  her  income,  derived  principally  from  the  iron-works 
at  Copford,  ten  miles  below  Crest,  and  the  tanyard  at 
Millville,  six  miles  above,  she  was  astonished.  It 
amounted  to  nine  thousand  a year. 

“ A hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars !”  she  ex- 
claimed. “ Just  enough.” 

“ The  Squire  did  not  know  how  much  he  was  worth. 
I have  sold  all  the  shipping  interest  in  Crest, — all  the 
houses.  You  only  own  certain  tracts  of  land  here,  which 
will  be  worth  more  by-and-by.  You  have  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  in  money.” 

“ I don’t  recollect  of  any  Parke’s  having  so  much  be- 
fore. Of  course,  it  will  go  to  my  Parke  ?” 


28 


TWO  MEN  . 


She  looked  anxiously  at  him. 

“ Certainly,  as  it  appears  now,  it  is  all  yours,  and  his. 
How  much  shall  I pay  you  for  my  board  ?” 

“Nonsense.” 

“ I have  a few  hundreds,  what  shall  I do  with  them  ?” 

She  blushed,  because  she  wished  Parke  and  herself  to 
owe  him  nothing. 

“ You  will  accept  my  labor,  but  not  my  money?” 

“ You  are  my  husband.” 

“ Because  I have  given  you  an  heir  ?” 

“If  you  wish  to  be  odd,  Jason,  I cannot  prevent  it.” 

“Your  heir,  not  mine.” 

“By  the  name  of  Auster.” 

The  expression  with  which  she  uttered  the  name 
made  him  turn  white.  From  that  time  he  was  proud 
enough  never  to  interpose  his  paternal  feelings  between 
her  and  his  child.  Instead,  therefore,  of  his  being  a bond 
of  unity,  he  was  the  means  of  an  anomalous  condition, 
which  is  not  supposed  to  exist  between  man  and  wife, 
where  there  are  children. 

To  all  appearance  the  family  flourished  and  were 
happy.  But  one  day,  the  day  that  Parke  was  nine  years 
old,  Sarah  beheld,  “ sitting  at  the  king’s  gate,”  her  cousin 
and  co-heir,  Osmond  Luce,  who  had  been  absent  twelve 
years.  He  was  not  alone;  a strange-looking  little  girl 
came  with  him — named  Philippa. 

Day  to  be  remembered  in  the  annals  of  Sarah’s  expe- 
riences— as  well  remembered  as  the  day  he  left  his  grand- 
father’s house ! 

“ Of  course,”  were  his  first  words,  “ I am  foolish  in 
expecting  to  see  my  grandfather.” 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  grasp,  and  mechan- 


TWO  MEN. 


29 


ically  resumed  her  seat ; her  mouth  moved  as  if  she  was 
in  a spasm. 

“ He  is  dead,5’  he  continued. 

“ Five  years  ago,”  she  made  out  to  say. 

“ And  I have  been  as  good  as  dead  twelve  years.” 

“No,  not  as  good,”  she  said,  the  lustre  of  her  black 
eyes  returning. 

“ Ha,  I recognize  my  native  air.” 

“ He  died  without  a thought  of  you ; he  had  forgotten 
you,  I believe,  and  forgotten  all  your  claims.” 

“ So  much  the  better  for  him.  Sarah,  Sarah,  I have 
come  thousands  of  miles  with  this  girl, — she  is  mine, — 
to  leave  her  on  ancestral  ground.  Her  mother  is  dead. 
Will  you  keep  her  ?” 

“ Papa,”  interposed  Philippa,  “ will  you  allow  me  to 
go  about  this  funny  house  ?” 

“ Go  anywhere,”  he  said,  and  opened  the  door  for  her. 

Philippa  immediately  mounted  the  wide  stairs,  and 
tried  to  open  the  door  of  the  great  clock,  which  stood 
on  the  landing  in  the  middle  of  the  flight. 

“Take  care,”  cried  a voice  above  her,  “the  pigeon 
may  fly  out.” 

“ What  boy  are  you  ?”  she  asked,  stretching  her  slen- 
der neck  to  get  a glimpse  of  him. 

“ Don’t  you  know  me  ? 1 am  Parke ; this  house  is 

mine.” 

“ I have  come  to  live  in  it.” 

He  descended  slowly,  looking  intently  at  her. 

When  he  stood  beside  her,  she  said,  “ Tell  me  about 
the  pigeon.” 

“ I will ; but  I don’t  think  you  are  handsome.” 

“ You  are,  indeed,  you  are.” 

3* 


30 


TWO  MEN. 


They  sat  down  on  the  stair  in  front  of  the  clock,  and 
after  taking  in  his  hands  her  braids  of  hair,  and  saying 
how  yellow  they  were,  he  told  her  that  one  day,  when 
the  clock  was  open,  and  Elsa  was  going  to  wind  it,  a 
pigeon  flew  in  from  the  window  into  the  clock,  and  that 
it  still  lived  there. 

“ That  is  all  nonsense,”  she  commented. 

“ It  makes  a noise  before  the  clock  strikes,  and  I say 
it  is  there.” 

“ What  does  it  get  to  eat  ?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“Then  it  starved  to  death  long  ago,”  she  said  trium- 
phantly. “ Why  don’t  you  have  it  stuffed  ? I’ve  got  a 
stuffed  macaw.” 

“ You’d  better  go  home,”  Parke  said. 

“ I can’t.” 

“ Must  you  stay  ?” 

“We  came  with  an  awful  trunk  ; the  coachman  said 
( By  vum,’  when  he  put  it  by  the  gate.” 

“ Let  us  go  and  see  it.” 

They  hopped  out  amicably,  and  Jason  found  them  on 
the  top  of  the  trunk  deep  in  conversation  when  he  came 
home  to  supper. 

“ What  little  girl  is  this  ?”  he  asked  kindly. 

“ I didn’t  ask,”  Parke  answered,  “ but  she  has  come 
to  stay.” 

“ You  had  better  go  in ; it  is  growing  chilly.” 

“ If  I choose  to  go  in,  I shall,”  replied  Parke  in  the 
mildest,  most  indifferent  of  voices.  Philippa  looked  at 
them  both  in  astonishment. 

“ I will  go  with  you,  sir,”  she  said,  offering  her  hand. 

Parke  followed  them  at  once  to  the  parlor.  It  was 


TWO  MEN. 


31 


dark  there,  and  perhaps  Jason  did  not  see  Sarah’s  com- 
pressed lips,  nor  the  red  spot  on  her  cheeks;  hut  he 
divined  who  the  stranger  was  before  she  introduced 
him. 

“ I am  the  prodigal  son,  Mr.  Auster,”  he  said ; “ but 
you  won’t  trouble  yourself  about  the  fatted  calf.” 

“No  trouble,”  replied  Jason,  “it  is  the  time  of  year 
for  veah” 

He  said  this  so  seriously,  that  Osmond  looked  at  him 
attentively. 

“ Mother,”  said  Parke,  “ this  little  girl  flew  in  as  the 
pigeon  did,  but  we  must  feed  her.” 

“ Yes,  or  she  will  starve,”  she  said,  with  a harsh  at- 
tempt at  pleasantry  which  made  Jason  feel  as  if  a grater 
had  passed  over  his  nerves.  “ And  I must  attend  to  the 
supper,  as  Elsa  will  go  into  a tantrum  now.” 

She  went  to  her  room  first,  however,  and  looked  at 
herself  in  the  glass. 

“ Oh,  I see  how  changed  I am,”  she  said  with  a touch 
of  womanly  regret ; “ how  unbecoming  light  dresses  are 
to  me.  I should  be  dressed  in  mourning ; yes,  yes,  in 
black  from  head  to  foot.  What  has  he  got  a child  for  ? 
How  can  I bear  it  ? And  it  has  not  come  into  Jason’s 
head,  how  much  poorer  we  are  than  we  were  this  morn- 
ing !” 

“ What  a handsome  boy  !”  exclaimed  Osmond,  as 
soon  as  the  door  had  closed  on  her.  “ Come  here,  you 
rascal.” 

“ I do  not  think  that  I am  a rascal,”  answered  Parke ; 
“ but  here  I am.” 

He  climbed  up  on  Osmond’s  knee,  and  looked  him 
frankly  in  the  face.  They  were  of  the  same  race.  Os- 


32 


TWO  MEN  . 


mond,  though  sunburnt,  hardened,  coarse,  stamped  with 
lines  that  spoke  a wasting  history,  bore  a wonderful  re- 
semblance to  the  boy. 

“ And  his  name,”  said  Jason,  “is  Parke.” 

Osmond  looked  at  him  again  closely. 

“ Where  could  Sarah  have  picked  up  that  man  ?”  he 
thought. 

“1  like  you,”  Parke  declared,  satisfied  with  his  in- 
spection. 

Osmond  kissed  him  twice,  and  smiled  for  the  first  time 
since  he  entered  the  house. 

Jason  was  looking  at  Philippa.  When  her  father 
kissed  Parke,  she  moved  her  eyes  as  if  seeking  to  escape 
something  painful.  Jason  went  to  her  quietly,  removed 
her  bonnet,  unpinned  her  brightly-flowered  shawl  whose 
deep  fringe  had  trailed  in  the  dirt,  and  placed  her  upon 
the  sofa. 

“ I came  here  to  stay  once  too,”  he  whispered. 

“ Cuth  and  Elsa,”  said  Osmond,  starting  up — “ I must 
see  them,  the  old  souls.  I know  where  they  are.” 

He  banged  the  door  behind  him,  and  passed  through 
the  rooms  whistling  a lively  air. 

“That  whistle,”  said  Jason  to  himself,  “is  a wind  of 
doctrine.” 

“ The  Everlasting !”  screamed  Elsa,  when  Osmond 
found  her,  “ 1 knew  you  would  come  back.  Now  we  are 
in  a mux.  What  will  folks  say  ? ” 

“ Never  mind,  I am  going  again.” 

“What  did  Sarah  say,  Osmond?  You  have  seen 
her.” 

“ Guess.” 

She  shook  her  head. 


TWO  MEN. 


33 


“ Blood  may  be  thicker  than  water,  and  it  may  not ; 
I ain’t  any  judge.”  And  then  she  sobbed. 

“ What  has  happened  in  the  last  dozen  years  ? Tell 
me,  old  girl,”  he  demanded,  carefully  wiping  her  eyes. 

“Haven’t  had  any  news  since  Mr.  Auster  came  to 
town,  and  the  Squire  died,  till  this  very  minute.” 

“ I did  not  expect  his  death — he  was  so  hale — and  the 
Parkes  live  long,  you  know.” 

“ You  did  not  expect  to  find  Sarah  married,  either.” 

He  laughed. 

“I  am  glad  she  is  married,  though,”  she  continued, 
with  a wrathful  look.  “ You  are  as  much  like  Satan  as 
ever.” 

“ You  are  not  glad,  and  as  for  Satan — ” 

“If  here  ain’t  Osmond  Luce!”  she  cried,  for  Sarah 
came  in  with  a jar  of  preserves.  “ I thought  I should 
have  fainted  when  I saw  him.” 

“ Elsa  is  the  same,  Osmond,”  said  Sarah. 

“Hot  a day  older.  She  is  a system  of  wires  made  of 
steel,  and  won’t  rust.  Where  is  Cuth?  Shall  I find 
him  in  the  yard?”  Elsa  caught  him,  to  pick  some 
threads  from  his  coat,  and  then  she  brushed  it. 

“ Where’s  your  baggage  ?”  she  asked. 

“In  the  parlor,  talking  with  Cousin  Jason.” 

“Oh  Lord ! You  haven’t  come  with  a wife ?” 

“ Ask  Sarah,”  and  he  rushed  out. 

“ He  has  brought  his  daughter  to  live  with  us.” 

“ Oh  Lord,  what  an  imbezzlement ! But  she  has  a 
right  here — no  mistake  in  it,  and  I’ll  see  to  her.” 

“ Thank  you.” 

“ How  he  favors  the  Parkes ! He  wants  the  Parke 
money,  I suppose.” 


34 


TWO  MEN. 


Sarah’s  eyes  flashed,  and  her  shining  black  ringlets  set 
up  a dance  round  her  forehead. 

“Nothing  like  family  affection.  Oh  pest  and  the 
deuce  take  this  teapot  nose,  it  is  choked  with  tea- 
grounds,”  continued  Elsa,  not  appearing  to  notice  Sarah, 
who  said,  after  a moment’s  silence,  putting  the  jar  on 
the  table  with  a hand  which  Elsa  saw  was  trembling, 
“ These  grapes  are  for  tea.” 

“ The  fathers  haven’t  eaten  the  grapes  this  time,”  said 
Elsa,  turning  the  jar  round  in  her  hands,  after  Sarah  had 
gone,  “ to  set  the  children’s  teeth  on  edge.  Sarah  has 
got  fangs,  fangs,  I tell  you,”  tapping  the  jar  sharply; 
“ and  yet  she  remembers  that  Osmond  liked  grape  pre- 
serves !” 

Cuth  was  at  the  wood-pile.  Osmond  went  up  behind 
him,  and  said,  “ Old  Cuth,  how  are  you  ?” 

For  a moment  Cuth  did  not  stir,  then  he  turned,  and 
said,  “ Curse  you,  if  you  would  go,  why  didn’t  you  stay? 
What  are  you  here  for  ?” 

“Your  blessing,  Cuth.” 

“You  had  that,  you  dog,  along  with  the  Squire’s.” 

Osmond  offered  him  some  plug  tobacco,  which  he 
seized,  threw  into  his  mouth,  and  seated  himself  on  a 

log. 

“ You’ve  come  for  something,”  he  said,  spitting  furi- 
ously. 

“For  half  of  this  wood-pile,  and  half  of  you,  Cuth.” 

Cuth  growled,  spit  high  in  the  air,  and  swore  a deep 
oath. 

“'What  has  Auster  done?”  Osmond  asked  abruptly. 

“ What  you  would  never  have  done,  if  you  had  stayed 
here  a hundred  years.  How  have  you  passed  your  time  ?’* 


TWO  MEN. 


35 


“ In  riotous  living,  Cutli.” 

a Well,  Auster  lias  passed  his  in  no  living  at  all.  Tell 
me  some  of  your  adventures,”  and  Cuth’s  shaggy  eye- 
brows lifted  themselves  above  a savage  sparkle  in  his 
eyes. 

“ Have  you  been  in  the  Spanish  main  ?” 

Osmond  laughed  so  loud,  that  Cuth,  disconcerted, 
turned  to  the  wood-pile,  and  began  to  lay  the  sticks' 
upon  it  with  careful  precision. 

“ I always  thought  you  were  mad,  Cuth,  and  now  I 
know  it.  How  have  your  passions  stood  this  sort  of 
thing  so  long  ?” 

“ The  Squire  pared  my  heels,  and  pared  my  toes,  and 
cut  out  my  tongue,  and  I loved  him.” 

“ Ah,  I never  could  do  as  he  did.” 

“ In  a measure,  you  are  stormy  though,  raging  and 
raving,  as  you  always  were,  I take  it : by  my  own  mind 
just  now,  I take  it  so.” 

“ Cuth,”  said  Osmond  absently,  “ I have  brought  my 
daughter  here.  Do  you  think  that  the  paring-the-heels- 
and-toes  system  died  with  my  grandfather  ?” 

“ Why, have  ye  now,  Osmond?  well,  I like  that.  The 
child  is  here,  hey  ? Sarah  Parke  is  sharp,  but  she  don’t 
bind  folks  to  her ; and  she  is  too  likely  a woman  to  be 
afraid  of, — or — to  be,  to  be — ” 

“ Loved,”  added  Osmond. 

Before  he  was  called  to  supper,  Cuth  had  given  him 
so  much  information  concerning  Jason  and  the  life  of 
the  family,  that  there  was  little  left  for  him  to  learn. 

The  taste  of  the  grapes  to  Osmond,  was  the  link  be- 
tween what  seemed  to  be  two  dreams ; that  of  having 
been  in  Crest,  a boy,  and  the  one  of  being  there  now,  a 


36 


TWO  MEN. 


man.  A wild  feeling  of  loss  and  home-sickness  swept 
over  him,  and  then,  like  a ship  in  a rough  sea,  whose 
prow  rise#  to  meet  the  breakers,  he  overrode  the  feeling 
with  a determined  will.  Sarah  watched  him  with  a rest- 
less, furtive  eye,  which  betrayed  to  him  her  unquiet  soul. 

“Not  one  of  you  have  asked  how  long  I intend  to 
stay !”  he  exclaimed. 

The  bread  on  the  way  to  Philippa’s  mouth  was  arrest- 
ed. A loaf  of  cake  was  near  Jason’s  hand;  he  cut  it  in 
two  with  one  blow  and  offered  the  plate  to  Osmond. 

“ Elsa,”  he  said,  with  a smile,  and  taking  a bit,  44  I 
never  thought  you  would  have  allegorical  cake.  Will 
you  share  in  it,  Sarah  ?” 

She  understood  it,  and,  with  a bitter  look  at  Jason, 
answered,  44  Not  just  now.” 

“None  of  your  foreign  lingo  here,”  cried  Elsa;  44 I’ll 
warrant  you  haven’t  tasted  such  cake  since  you  left.” 

“ISToiig  like  this,  so  sweet,  so  good,”  said  Osmond  in 
a deep  voice,  and,  with  a gesture  towards  Jason,  “has 
been  offered  me.” 

“Perhaps  Philippa  would  like  some,”  said  Sarah; 
“ she  has  your  taste,  Osmond,  undoubtedly.” 

“ Perhaps  she  would,”  he  cried,  a light  coming  into 
his  face,  “perhaps  she  would;  4 1 thank  thee,  Jew.’” 

But  Philippa  declined  the  cake,  and  patiently  resumed 
her  bread.  She  was  accustomed  to  her  father’s  vaga- 
ries ; Elsa  seemed  to  recall  them  too,  and  asked  him  if 
he  was  as  fond  of  his  “.reading  books”  as  he  used  to  be. 

Jason  proposed  cigars  after  supper,  and  he,  with  Os- 
mond, started  on  a walk. 

44  Philippa  is  an  outlandish  name,”  said  Sarah,  still  at 
the  table.  44  How  old  are  you  ?” 


“ Ten  years.” 

“ Do  you  expect  to  be  contented  here  ?” 

Philippa  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  lixed  her  brown 
eyes  upon  Sarah,  who  could  not  repress  a thrill  of  irri- 
tation. 

“ Philippa,  Ippa,  Ippa,  Philippa,”  Parke  sang. 

“ Parke,”  ordered  Sarah,  “ go  to  bed.” 

“Not  yet,”  continuing  his  song,  “Ippa,  Ippa,  I must 
nip  her.” 

“ Ippa”  smiled,  and  pushing  from  her  ear  her  yellow 
curls,  offered  it  to  him.  “ You  may  nip  it  if  you  like.” 

“ I am  going  to  play  with  you  for  a while,”  he  said, 
accepting  her  offer ; “ but  you  must  play  as  I say.” 

“ Go  into  the  kitchen,  then,”  Sarah  begged. 

“ Along  with  you,”  said  Elsa. 

The  evening  wore  on,  and  Jason  and  Osmond  did  not 
return.  Sarah  was  curious  enough  to  muffle  herself  in  a 
shawl,  and  dash  out  to  Jason’s  office  down  the  street  to 
see  if  there  wa£  a light  there.  The  rays  of  a lamp 
streamed  from  a hole  in  the  paper  window-curtain ; she 
hesitated  a moment,  then  went  forward  and  looked 
through  it.  Jason  was  smoking  a short  clay  pipe.  His 
hat  was  pushed  back  from  his  forehead,  and  he  was  tilting 
on  two  legs  of  his  chair ; now  and  then  with  a ruler  he 
struck  at  and  turned  over  the  pages  of  a ledger,  which 
was  on  the  desk  before  him.  His  appearance  fascinated 
her,  so  much  depended  with  him,  if  he  but  willed  so  ! 
While  she  devoured  his  face,  attitude,  motions,  she  was 
gauging  the  depth  of  his  moral  nature.  “We  never 
know  what  we  are  till  we  are  tried,”  she  reasoned  for 
him,  in  her  mad  hope  that  his  conscience  was  solving  a 

problem  which  could  not  trouble  hers.  “We  can’t 
4 


38 


TWO  MEN. 


make  nice  distinctions  always.  What  is  duty  in  such  a 
case  ? Haven’t  we  every  right  to  what  we  have  so  long 
cared  for,  and  he  neglected  ? I would  punish  him.” 
Osmond,  who  was  beyond  her  vision,  spoke ; she  could 
not  hear  what  he  said,  but  she  saw  a frank  smile  spread 
over  Jason’s  countenance. 

“ I might  have  known,”  she  thought,  “ that  Osmond 
would  strike  at  the  heart  of  the  business  at  once ; and  I 
am  a fool  to  have  dreamed  that  he  would  not  turn  Jason 
round  his  little  finger.” 

She  would  not  let  her  anger  admit  that  his  honesty 
was  proof  against  any  temptation,  or  rather,  that  temp- 
tation could  never  approach  him.  She  turned  away 
with  a step  that  stirred  the  gravel  on  the  walk,  and 
made  Osmond  listen. 

“Somebody  going  by,”  remarked  Jason,  observing 
his  attention. 

The  front  door  was  ajar,  as  she  had  left  it,  and  she 
believed  that  she  had  not  been  missed.  Parke  had  gone 
to  bed,  probably,  under  Elsa’s  supervision;  the  house 
was  too  still  for  him  to  be  awake.  But  the  girl ! — no 
arrangement  had  been  made  for.  her.  It  struck  her, 
then,  that  she  would  rather  have  Philippa  under  her 
eye,  as  a hostage.  Osmond  might  not  cut  and  thrust  so 
liberally,  with  his  plans  and  wishes,  so  long  as  she 
should  remain  in  Crest. 

“Well,”  said  Elsa,  “I  have  waited  to  hear  where 
Philippa  is  to  be  put,  till  her  eyes  are  glued  together 
with  sleep.” 

“ Keep  her  with  you  to-night.” 

“ She  has  a kind  of  way  of  saying  prayers.  I suppose 
she  thought  she  wasn’t  going  to  bed,  and  that  she  had 


TWO  MEN. 


39 


better  mum  ’em  in  her  chair,  and  sleep  there.  She  ain’t 
one  bit  like  her  father.  I believe  she  is  a Roman  Cath- 
olic myself.” 

“ Don’t  notice  it,  Elsa,  if  she  is ; she  won’t  be  one  long 
with  me.” 

“ Where  are  they  ?”  asked  Elsa,  abruptly.  “ At  it,  I 
conclude.” 

46 IST o matter  where  they  are,”  Sarah  replied,  with  a 
stamp  of  her  foot. 

Elsa  slammed  the  door  for  a retort,  and  vanished. 

Jason  lit  the  lamp  in  his  office,  exchanged  a little 
commonplace  talk  with  Osmond,  and  then  became  silent. 

Osmond  lit  another  cigar,  which  he  took  from  a Ma- 
nilla case,  and  asked,  “How  much  was  the  old  man 
worth  ?” 

“ His  estate  is  now  worth  a hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars.” 

“ I had  no  idea  of  so  much.” 

“ I have  bettered  it,  since  I took  it  in  my  hands.” 

“ You  might  have  cheated  me  like  the  devil.” 

Jason  tapped  a row  of  books  in  his  desk. 

“ Sarah  has  supposed  you  would  not  return ; I thought 
you  might.  Look  at  these.” 

“ Do  you  mean  to  say  that  my  half  is  ready  ?” 

“Why  not?” 

“I  might  have  been  a magnate  here,  if  my  grand- 
father had  not  treated  me  as  a boy,”  said  Osmond  irrel- 
evantly, for  Jason  had  so  astonished  him  that  he  hardly 
knew  what  to  say. 

“You  were  a boy  when  you  left  him,”  said  Jason, 
gently.  “/  was  a man  when  I entered  the  family,  and 
yet  he  never  trusted  any  thing  to  me.” 


40 


TWO  MEN. 


“ I vow  to  God,  if  it  were  not  for  Philippa,  I would 
give  you  every  dollar  that  may  he  mine;  then” — he 
stopped,  for  something  in  Jason’s  face  struck  him. 
u Sarah  would  not  have  it  so,”  he  resumed.  “ She  must 
have  Nemesis,  though.” 

“ Who  is  that  ?” 

“ A relation  of  the  owner  of  that  sword  which  was 
suspended  by  a hair  over  the  head  of  one  of  the  an- 
cients.” 

“ Cut  it,”  said  Jason,  looking  up  as  if  he  saw  the 
sword  in  the  air. 

“ I decided  to-night  to  renounce  my  claim  here,  and 
give  Philippa  all  my  rights ; having  done  this,  I shall 
cut  my  stick ; did  you  mean  that  ? Will  you  be  her 
guardian  ?” 

“ Yes.  Why  did  you  bring  her  here  ?” 

“ From  mixed  motives.  I will  confide  to  you,  how- 
ever, that  she  is  an  obstacle  in  my  way  of  life,  and  that 
I have  never  felt  a strong  interest  in  her.  I have 
studied  out  the  means  of  happiness  for  her  notwith- 
standing. She  will  be  happy  here  ; hers  is  no  Southern 
nature ; she  belongs  to  the  North.” 

“ Well,”  said  Jason,  thoughtfully,  “she  is  one  of  the 
family.” 

“And  will  hold  her  own  sooner  or  later.  I shall 
plant  a few  ideas  in  her  brain  which  will  take  root,  and 
in  time  bear  fruit.” 

“ There  will  be  nothing  for  me  to  do.” 

“ Who  knows  how  much  ? I should  have  made  a dif- 
ferent arrangement,  had  I found  you  a different  man. 
Excuse  me,  I shall  not  find  a man  I dare  be  so  frank 
with  again ; — how  came  you  and  Sarah  to  marry  ?” 


TWO  MEN. 


41 


Jason  turned  white,  and  looked  up  into  the  air  again. 

“ I’ll  think  about  it,  and  let  you  know,”  he  answered, 
presently. 

“Cousin  Jason,  you  are  a trump.  Now  about  your 
fees,  or  your  salary,  or  salvage,  or  commission,  whatever 
you  may  please  to  call  the  emolument  of  guardianship.” 

The  preliminaries  were  settled  in  a moment,  and  Os- 
mond proposed  a walk  round  the  town.  His  memory 
was  still  green,  he  said,  as  they  passed  through  the  silent 
streets,  and  he  recounted  boyish  episodes,  which  let  J ason 
into  the  secret  of  his  character.  The  story  of  his  later 
life  was  also  told,  and  his  listener  heard  an  experience, 
so  different  from  his  own,  related  as  a matter  of  course 
in  the  history  of  men’s  lives,  that  he  felt  his  past  had 
been  but  a sleep-walking.  Osmond’s  tongue  was  like  a 
wedge,  hard,  insinuating,  forcible;  in  spite  of  Jason’s 
impassibility  it  made  its  cleaving  way  into  undisturbed 
recesses,  which  being  once  invaded  might  prove  him  a 
man  like  other  men. 

Osmond  remained  a few  days  only.  He  made  what 
he  called  the  hereditary  tour, — that  of  the  old  burying- 
ground,  and  a few  visits  to  his  grandfather’s  friends,  but 
renewed  none  of  his  own  early  associations.  He  could 
not  escape,  however,  the  spirit  of  the  past  which  Sarah 
evoked  for  him.  The  fire  burned  on  the  same  altar 
which  he  refused  to  sacrifice  upon  years  ago,  where  he 
might  have  flung  himself  and  been  consumed.  Hatred 
and  love  were  equally  probable  passions  between  such 
temperaments,  and  equally  fatal.  Her  manner  was  so 
stinging,  so  bitter  and  excited  towards  him,  his  so  cool, 
daring,  watchful,  and  resolute  towards  her,  that  they 

were  obliged  to  be  only  mindful  of  each  other;  even 
"4* 


42 


TWO  MEN. 


Philippa,  who  might  have  been  tossed  from  one  to  the 
other,  like  a bone  between  hungry  dogs,  was  neglected. 
Jason  had  given  her  an  account  of  his  business  interview 
with  Osmond,  but  she  made  no  comments  upon  it,  either 
to  him  or  to  Osmond.  There  was  a squareness  in  Jason’s 
way  of  setting  forth  facts  which  made  her  distrust  her 
influence  with  him.  Osmond  was  satisfied  that  she  had 
at  once  acquiesced  in  Jason’s  guardianship,  and  so 
Philippa  was  ignored.  The  day  he  left  he  was  closeted 
with  her  for  a long  time ; she  shed  no  tears  when  he  de- 
parted, but  Parke  cried  in  his  arms,  and  begged  him, 
with  kisses,  to  come  again.  Osmond  promised,  with  a 
significant  look  at  Sarah,  to  be  with  them  in  ten  years, 
for  by  that  time  there  would  be  questions  to  ask  which 
he  would  be  old  enough  to  answer.  He  demanded  of 
Cuth  and  Elsa  that  they  should  live  till  then,  and  rode 
away  with  a careless  ease  which  made  Sarah  grind  her 
teeth  and  Jason  smile. 

“ He  sows  to  the  wind,”  said  Elsa,  “ and  always  will.” 

“ And  we  reap  the  whirlwind,”  said  Sarah,  looking  at 
Philippa. 

“ The  wind  don’t  blow,”  cried  Parke,  looking  out  of 
the  window. 

“ I wish  it  did,”  said  Philippa,  whistling,  as  she  had 
heard  the  sailors  whistle  at  sea ; “ I wish  a hurricane 
would  come  this  way.” 

If  the  faculty  to  detect  the  principle  which  directs  the 
march  of  circumstances  had  been  given  to  Jason,  it  is 
probable  that  his  history  would  be  impossible ; he  would 
have  rendered  it  nugatory  from  the  moment  that  Osmond 
Luce  returned  to  Crest. 


TWO  MEN. 


43 


CHAPTER  V 

Just  before  Osmond’s  visit,  Jason,  at  Sarah’s  request, 
drew  a plan  for  the  alteration  and  improvement  of  the 
old  house ; she  approved  it,  and  he  made  a contract  with 
John  Davis  to  do  the  work.  But  after  Osmond’s  depart- 
ure she  informed  Jason  that  she  had  changed  her  mind, 
and  thought  the  house  was  well  enough  as  it  was.  He 
insisted  that  the  contract  must  he  fulfilled,  and  for  the 
first  time  there  was  a positive  disagreement  between 
them ; but  he  carried  the  point,  and  the  workmen  com- 
menced operations. 

The  old  ceilings,  the  old  partitions,  and  the  old  win- 
dows were  removed,  and  the  foundation  raised,  in  order 
to  make  a terrace  in  front  for  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  a 
flight  of  granite  steps.  The  house  was  so  changed  that 
nothing  reminded  the  family  of  its  previous  shape,  ex- 
cept the  wainscoting  in  the  west  parlor,  and  the  broad 
brick  hearth  in  the  kitchen. 

“ Thankful  to  the  Lord  for  these  remnants,”  Elsa  ex- 
claimed, who  partook  of  Sarah’s  ill-humor  without  know- 
ing why.  Jason  tried  to  console  her  by  promising  that 
the  yard  below  the  terrace  should  not  be  touched. 

“ As  if  any  thing  could  be  done  there  with  hammer 
and  chisel,”  she  said,  scornfully.  “ I’d  like  to  see  John 
Parke’s  row  of  balsam-firs  cut  down.” 

“ Why  did  he  plant  one  row  to  the  east,  and  none  else- 
where ?” 


44 


TWO  MEN. 


“ To  make  it  lonesome,  and  shut  out  the  houses  down 
the  street,  I imagine.  I have  heard  he  was  half  crazy ; 
but  he  was  the  only  one  of  the  family  who  ever  planted 
trees.  When  I used  to  say  to  the  Squire  that  he’d  better 
plant  some,  he’d  answer  that  he  should  not  live  to  enjoy 
their  shade,  and  would  not  do  it.” 

While  the  confusion  and  disorder  of  rebuilding  lasted 
Jason  and  the  children  were  companions.  He  resumed 
chisel  and  plane  with  an  avidity  which  attracted  Parke, 
and  sent  him  to  his  mother  to  ask  if  his  father  were  a 
real  carpenter.  Philippa  learned  the  fact  through  John 
Davis ; she  overheard  him  say  that  he  thought  it  a pity 
so  good  a workman  as  Jason  should  be  spoiled,  all  for 
the  sake  of  the  very  institutions  he  had  once  gone 
against ; he  could  see,  though,  that  a man  in  the  downs 
had  better  try  the  ups  of  life,  before  he  decided  that 
high  and  low  were  only  empty  names.  Philippa  silent- 
ly wondered  at  what  she  had  heard,  and  was  so  watch- 
ful of  Jason  at  his  work,  that  he  could  not  help,  at  last, 
being  watchful  of  her  in  return.  One  day,  when  Parke, 
tired  of  the  shavings,  the  blocks,  and  the  racket,  had 
gone  to  ride  with  Sarah,  Jason  broke  the  silence  which 
had  been  maintained  between  Philippa  and  himself. 
He  was  planing  a long  board,  and  she  was  walking  be- 
hind him,  picking  up  the  best  curled  shavings.  He 
looked  back  and  said,  “You  are  my  ward;  if  you  want 
any  thing  you  must  ask  me  for  it.” 

She  dropped  her  apronful  of  shavings  and  answered, 
“ My  father  told  me  that  1 was  your  ward ; but  he  said 
I was  not  to  ask  for  any  thing  till  I grew  up.  Do  you 
think  I am  growing  ?” 

He  turned  entirely  round,  looked  at  her,  took  a 


TWO  MEN.  45 

measuring-rule,  and  kneeling  before  her,  measured  her 
length. 

“Not  a mite,”  he  answered,  seriously;  “but  we  will 
keep  account  hereafter  of  your  inches.  At  presSPt  you 
are  a very  small  girl  indeed.” 

“ And  ugly,  too.” 

“ Who  said  so  ?” 

“ Parke.  Can  you  make  him  ashamed  for  saying  so  ?” 

The  question  made  him  reflect  on  the  influence  his 
non-interference  with  Parke  might  have,  and  how  much 
it  might  affect  his  guardianship,  and  he  instantly  deter- 
mined to  exercise  no  authority  with  her  beyond  the 
management  of  her  money;  there  should  be  no  differ- 
ence shown  by  him  in  his  treatment  of  the  children. 
The  price  of  existence  with  the  Parkes  must  be  an  eter- 
nal silence. 

He  threw  down  the  rule  with  a slight  laugh,  took  up 
his  plane,  and  while  feeling  its  edge  said,  “Little  boys 
of  nine  forget  politeness  now  and  then ; he  won’t  say  it 
again.” 

“ But  it  was  true.” 

“ Why  should  he  be  ashamed  of  speaking  the  truth, 
then  ?” 

“ I thought  you  might  know  he  said  so,  and  not  let 
him  hurt  me.” 

“ I only  know  how  to  drive  the  plane,  the  hammer, 
and  the  saw, — my  brothers.” 

“Then  you  are  not  spoiled,”  she  said,  remembering 
John  Davis’s  remarks. 

“ I don’t  know  about  that,”  he  answered,  wondering 
what  she  meant,  but  not  choosing  to  ask,  for  he  thought 
he  had  said  enough. 


TWO  MEN. 


46 

The  summer  was  ended  before  the  house  was  done. 
Jason  made  over  the  premises  to  Sarah,  but  from  some 
unac^untable  whim  she  refused  to  buy  any  thing  new. 
The  old  furniture  was  put  in  the  new  rooms,  and  the  old 
aspect  was  renewed  as  much  as  joossible.  Then  she 
took  Philippa  in  hand  to  train : all  the  indulgences  that 
she  lacked  at  Philippa’s  age,  Philippa  was  to  lack  ; she 
should  be  taught  to  be  useful,  not  to  enjoy  herself  after 
any  fashion  of  her  own.  What  had  been  right  for  her- 
self, Sarah  said,  must  be  right  for  Philippa,  whether  it 
suited  or  not. 

“ The  times,”  remonstrated  Elsa,  with  whom  she  dis- 
cussed the  subject,  “ are  different  from  what  they  were 
when  you  were  a child ; besides,  you  must  call  to  mind 
that  she  has  got  an  independent  fortune;  you  hadn’t, 
you  know.” 

She  was  not  to  be  spoiled  on  that  account,  Sarah 
replied,  and  money  or  no  money,  she  must  be  taught  a 
sense  of  duty,  and  the  practice  of  it.  So  Philippa  went 
through  a course  of  dish-towel  hemming,  patchwork, 
fine  stitching,  knitting,  muslin  work,  counting  spoons 
and  linen,  setting  the  table,  and  clearing  it,  keeping 
chairs  at  the  right  angles,  airing  rooms,  closets,  clothes, 
and  furniture,  and  taking  care  of  her  own  room,  all  of 
which  was  intensely  disagreeable  to  her.  She  was  sent 
to  school  regularly,  and  made  to  give  Saturday  after- 
noon entertainments  to  her  schoolmates,  and  return 
their  visits,  which  was  never  a source  of  enjoyment.  In 
short,  she  was  confined  to  a system  as  rigid  as  that  of 
the  penitentiary,  with  one  exception — liberty  to  asso- 
ciate with  Parke,  and  share  his  pleasures  as  he  saw  fit. 
To  give  Sarah  her  due,  she  was  just  towards  Philippa  in 


TWO  MEN. 


47 


all  that  pertained  to  her  material  welfare;  her  health 
was  guarded,  she  was  not  subjected  to  fatigue  and  ex- 
posure— her  associations  were  limited  to  the  orthodox 
standard,  and  she  was  as  one  of  the  family.  But  Phil- 
ippa never  exposed  to  her  the  tumults  of  childhood,  its 
fears,  its  doubts,  hopes  and  wishes.  Except  for  a de- 
meanor which  indicated  a persistent  will,  and  the  dis- 
play of  a peculiar  frankness  when  pushed  too  hard,  she 
appeared  to  be  a docile  child ; not  particularly  pleasing 
or  interesting,  but  quiet  and  self-contained.  The  most 
noticeable  fact  in  her  biography  for  several  years  was  a 
fever,  which  attacked  her  every  summer,  and  left  her 
gaunt  and  sallow  for  months  after.  And  although 
Sarah  watched  and  tended  her  in  these  illnesses,  and 
fretted  over  them,  she  never  remembered  being  kissed 
or  smiled  upon,  or  having  her  hand  pressed  with  an 
affectionate  grasp.  Sarah  hated  her.  Was  it  because 
of  her  hate  that  she  allowed  herself  no  escape  from  the 
performance  of  every  external  duty  ? Or  did  she  believe 
that  it  was  the  spirit,  not  the  letter,  which  killed  ? 
Could  she  have  washed  her  hands  of  Philippa’s  life  and 
rights,  would  she  have  done  so  ? Or  would  she,  from 
some  strange  necessity  in  her  nature,  still  prefer  to  keep 
her  as  her  familiar  demon  ? 

The  reflection  of  Parke’s  serene,  joyous  life  spread 
over  Philippa’s,  and  prevented  her  from  being  miserable. 
At  once  he  had  engaged  her  affection,  and  her  devotion 
to  him  was  as  unqualified  as  his  mother’s.  He  was  beau- 
tiful ; his  temper  was  perfect,  and  his  manners  were  win- 
ning. As  he  grew  older,  the  mould  of  his  childish  char- 
acter enlarged,  but  did  not  change.  His  good-humor, 
his  facility  to  discover  means  of  enjoyment,  his  perpetual, 


48 


TWO  MEN. 


pleasant,  gentle  activity,  were  delightful.  His  atmo- 
sphere kindled  all  who  entered  it  into  brightness,  and 
created  a desire  to  shine  as  he  would  shine.  He  loved 
truth,  was  devoid  of  suspicion,  and  took  it  for  grant- 
ed that  men  and  women  were  what  they  appeared  to 
be.  Fact  held  the  place  in  his  nature  which  depth 
occupied  in  Jason’s,  and  a becoming  way  of  self-grati- 
fication contrasted  with  Sarah’s  abnegation  of  pleasure. 
He  had  a cool  head,  a cooler  heart,  but  a tender  dis- 
position, and  with  all  these  traits  lay  hidden  in  his 
soul  the  capacity  for  a terrible  abandonment  to  the 
passions. 

In  the  course  of  time  it  began  to  be  observed  by  Ja- 
son’s business  acquaintances  that  he  entered  into  no 
speculations,  and  made  no  contracts.  They  said  among 
themselves  that  he  must  be  intending  to  retire,  and  live 
upon  his  income,  which  was  rated  as  very  large.  They 
could  not  guess,  of  course,  the  truth.  He  decided  that 
for  himself  the  little  he  had  made  since  his  marriage  was 
enough,  and  that  he  would  not  risk  again  either  Parke’s 
or  Philippa’s  money.  He  was  determined  that  when 
they  came  of  age  their  incomes  should  be  equal.  There 
never  should  be  an  issue  regarding  the  Squire’s  proper- 
ty, as  far  as  he  was  concerned ; if  it  depreciated  natu- 
rally, the  heirs  must  bear  the  loss  equally.  Whether  he 
had  a troubled,  mist-like  vision  in  his  mind  respecting 
Sarah,  if  any  question  of  loss  should  come  up  between 
them ; or  whether  he  had  as  dim  a remembrance  of  his 
socialistic  principles ; whatever  the  cause,  he  carried  out 
his  plan  with  the  tenacity  of  a man  who  has  but  one 
idea  at  a time,  and  so  tied  up  the  property  beyond  his 
control,  that,  morally  speaking,  he  was  Yble  to  consider 


TWO  MEN. 


49 


himself  as  outside  of  the  family.  From  this  time  of 
mental  independence  the  habits  of  his  life  changed.  In 
order  to  continue  his  out-of-door  life  he  took  up  gunning 
and  fishing,  and  spent  days  in  the  woods,  and  days  on 
the  sea,  but  he  rarely  brought  home  any  game  or  fish. 
With  his  dogs  he  beat  the  dense  oak  and  pine  woods 
which  bordered  Crest,  and  acquired  an  occult  love  for 
every  tree  he  passed  under.  In  his  two-masted,  sharp- 
hulled boat,  he  coasted  the  shores  of  the  bay,  or  pushed 
out  beyond  the  islands  across  its  mouth,  and  followed 
the  trackless  paths  of  ships  that  went  down  the  great 
deep,  and  the  sea  became  one  of  his  deities. 

The  onus  of  bringing  up  the  children,  of  sustaining 
their  position,  and  the  claims  of  society,  he  left  to  Sarah, 
who  bore  the  burden  becomingly.  She  was  a friend  to 
the  poor  and  the  aged,  because  it  was  the  custom  of  the 
family,  and  she  continued  the  time-honored  gifts  of 
salves,  cordials,  and  food  for  the  sick.  She  was  a good 
member  of  the  upper  class,  for  she  dressed  handsomely, 
entertained  handsomely,  and  was  never  inconveniently 
intimate  with  it.  Without  a profound  comprehension 
of  the  spiritual,  devoid  of  pious  aspirations,  she  was  a 
believer  in  the  tenets  of  the  Congregational  Church,  and 
had  joined  it  a year  before  her  marriage.  She  was  full 
of  the  business  of  religion,  and  ministers  were  under  her 
especial  patronage.  With  all  her  prestige,  all  her  influ- 
ence, she  was  not  loved  abroad,  nor  envied ; her  want 
of  softness,  her  shrill  laugh,  her  cold  words,  the  restless 
expression  in  her  black  eyes  and  thin  lips,  and  her  repei- 
lant  manner,  made  people  afraid  of  her. 

The  years  advanced  through  Parke  and  Philippa’s 
childhood,  and  brought  Sarah  and  Jason  to  the  borders 
5 


50 


TWO  MEK. 


of  middle  age  with  a monotony  which  concealed  the 
swiftness  of  their  flight,  and  kept  in  check  that  pre- 
science of  change  and  loss  which  generally  hovers  over 
the  mind. 


TWO  MEN. 


51 


CHAPTER  VI. 

u The  snow-flowers  stake  with  the  cold,”  said  Elsa, 
“ and  the  apple-blossoms  are  all  of  a didder  this  after- 
noon. It’s  more  like  fall  than  spring,  and  here  we  are 
on  the  edge  of  summer.” 

“ Have  you  been  out  ?”  inquired  Sarah,  looking  at  her 
watch. 

“ I’ve  taken  the  round  of  the  fences  for  the  first  time 
this  year.  I tell  you  that  Cuth  is  failing ; he  don’t  at- 
tend to  the  garden  as  he  used  to.” 

“ Don’t  you  perceive  that  we  are  all  growing  old  ?” 
Sarah  asked  maliciously,  but  Elsa  turned  the  subject. 

“ Philippa  will  be  in  by  six,  won’t  she  ?”  she  inquired. 

“ I suppose  so.” 

“ And  walk  down  from  the  depot  ?” 

“ Why  not  ?” 

“ Oh,  nothing  ; only  it  seemed  to  me,  as  she  has  been 
gone  two  years,  somebody  might  have  waited  upon  her 
for  once.” 

u We  might  have  had  an  oration,  and  banners,  beer 
and  gingerbread,  if  you  had  spoken  in  time.  At  all 
events,  you  could  have  asked  Cuth  to  put  the  horse  in 
the  chaise,  and  drive  up  for  her.  Gilbert  must  be  sent 
up  with  the  wagon  for  her  baggage.” 

“ I should  have  thought  that  Mr.  Auster  would  have 
staid  at  home  to-day.” 

“ He  forgot  that  she  was  coming,  I dare  say,  though 


52 


TWO  MEN. 


her  hills  only  came  in  yesterday — heavy  ones,  too ; but 
I trust  that  the  boarding-school  business  is  over  now.” 

“ She  would  go,  you  remember,  as  soon  as  Parke  left 
for  college ; of  all  the  grit  I ever  saw,  she  was  the  grit- 
tiest. When  you  told  her  that  it  was  folly  for  her  to 
think  of  going,  she  surprised  me  even.  Are  Parke’s 
bills  heavy,  too  ?” 

Sarah  looked  at  Elsa  with  a dark  face,  for  it  seemed 
as  if  she  were  trying  to  exasperate  her ; but  the  old  wo- 
man’s countenance  was  imperturbable;  her  round  cheeks, 
rosy  as  winter  apples,  glistened  provokingly.  Sarah 
could  have  snapped  her  fingers  against  them  with  plea- 
sure, or  scratched  the  smooth,  glassy  enamel  of  her 
shining  eyes,  that  were  made  to  penetrate,  not  to  be 
penetrated? 

“ A man’s  bills  are  different,”  Sarah  answered  calmly, 
for  after  all  she  loved  Elsa. 

“ A man  ! what  business  has  he  to  play  the  man  ? I 
could  trot  him  on  my  knee  this  minute.” 

u You  have  done  so  often  enough  when  he  was  a 
troublesome  child.” 

“ I have ; I never  begrudged  my  time,  when  I took 
care  of  him.  Well,  he  has  grown  up  worth  looking  at. 
Would  you  like  some  toast,  Sarah  ? You  are  not  very 
well  ?” 

“ Oh  yes,  I am ; but  I do  not  object  to  toast.” 

Elsa  proposed  attending  to  it  immediately,  but  in- 
stead of  going  to  the  kitchen,  she  went  to  the  back 
stairs  where  she  had  deposited  a branch  of  apple-blos- 
soms, carried  it  to  Philippa’s  chamber,  and  put  it  in  a 
mug  of  old  transparent  china  decorated  with  a theatri- 
cal shepherdess  in  a curled  wig  that  had  belonged  to 


TWO  MEN. 


53 


the  Squire’s  first  wife.  Stepping  back  to  observe  its 
effect,  she  mentally  remarked,  that  it  was  nine  years 
ago  this  very  month  since  Philippa  came  to  Crest,  and 
that  time  had  not  changed  Sarah  fbr  the  better.  Time, 
she  supposed,  brought  healing  on  his  wings ; it  was  not 
so  always,  for  something  dropped  from  them  like  corro- 
sive sublimate  in  its  effect,  when  he  passed  over  certain 
heads.  Crossing  the  room  on  tiptoe,  as  if  she  saw  and 
avoided  those  venomous  fallen  drops,  she  opened  the 
blind  of  a western  window,  and  looked  out.  ISTo  sun- 
beam streamed  past  her ; but  the  light  of  a purple  sky 
broke  along  the  dark  walls.  The  woods,  which  circled 
half  the  west,  were  still  piebald  with  the  hues  of  a late 
spring — pale  green,  brown,  and  dingy  red,  and  vast 
purple  clouds,  furrowed  like  the  sea  before  the  town, 
hung  over  the  house. 

“ If  I should  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,”  she 
muttered,  “ I could  not  say  that  I thought  this  weath- 
er was  what  the  Lord  ought  to  send.  It  gives  me  the 
creeps.” 

She  turned  from  the  window  without  observing  Phil- 
ippa, who  was  walking  towards  the  house,  in  a green 
shawl  which  brought  her  in  strong  relief  against  the 
slaty  sky.  Her  own  window  was  scanned  first,  and 
then  she  looked  at  the  front  door,  but  it  was  closed  ; no 
one  was  awaiting  her.  As  she  entered  the  hall,  lei- 
surely untying  her  bonnet,  Sarah,  who  heard  her  foot- 
steps, dropped  her  work  and  rose  to  meet  her  with  an 
extended  hand.  Philippa  took  it,  and  an  automatic 
movement  passed  between  them,  which  was,  in  mean- 
ing, a chapter  in  the  biography  of  their  relationship. 

“ Why,  Philippa  !”  said  Sarah,  with  a smile  which  did 
5* 


54 


TWO  MEN. 


not  unclose  her  lips,  “you  have  grown  a head  taller. 
Your  dresses  must  be  all  too  short.” 

Philippa  tossed  her  foot  out  from  the  edge  of  her  skirt, 
and  said : “ I crouch  when  it  is  necessary.  Are  you 
well,  Cousin  Sarah  Auster?  Where  is  Jason?  When 
did  you  hear  from  Parke  ? How  is  Elsa  ?” 

Elsa  rushed  in,  crying  : “ Good  for  nothing  girl,  you 
might  have  come  home  before.  I wanted  you.  You 
are  a little  better  looking ; hope  you  have  got  over  be- 
ing yellow ; guess  you  have  at  last.  How  are  you  ? I 
am  not  fit  for  much  this  spring.  I’ll  take  your  things. 
Gilbert  has  gone  for  your  trunks.  Gilbert’s  wife  has  got 
a baby.  She  asked  me  if  she  might  name  it  Philippa ; I 
told  her  she  had  better  name  it  Gilippa — you  could 
make  it  a present  any  way — and  she  was  mad  with  me. 
You’ve  got  on  your  old  black  silk,  haven’t  you  ? it  is 
tattered  and  tom.  Did  you  know  that  we  had  a new 
minister,  all  shaven  and  shorn  ? You  are  eighteen  now. 
Your  father  will  be  thirty-eight  next  month,  w'on’t  he, 
Sarah  ?” 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  your  tongue,  Elsa  ?”  she 
asked ; “ I am  too  confused  with  it  to  answer  your  ques- 
tions.” 

“ Elsa,  you  are  the  only  handsome  old  woman  I have 
seen  since  I left  you,”  said  Philippa.  “ I am  glad  to  be 
where  you  are.” 

“ Questions  and  all,  hey  ? But  here  is  Mr.  Auster.” 

“So  you  came,  Philippa,”  said  Jason,  “before  I could 
beat  up  the  harbor.  I expected  to  be  at  the  depot  for 
you.” 

She  advanced  to  shake  hands  with  him,  but  he  looked 
so  awkward  when  she  reached  him,  that  she  was  sorry 


TWO  1EN. 


55 


ghe  had  made  the  attempt.  Still,  she  felt  that  his  man- 
ner was  not  unfriendly.  He  made  an  effort  to  converse 
with  her,  hut  it  was  an  evident  relief  to  him  when  Elsa 
summoned  them  to  tea. 

When  Philippa’s  trunks  arrived,  she  went  to  her 
chamber  and  commenced  unpacking.  An  hour  after 
she  was  interrupted  by  Sarah,  who  came  to  say  that 
there  was  company  at  Mrs.  Rogers’s  that  evening,  and 
to  inquire  whether  she  would  go  for  a while. 

“ It  is  too  late  to  dress,  and  I am  shabby  any  way,” 
she  answered. 

“ Our  new  minister  will  be  there.  Everbody  will  be 
asking  about  you,  and  Mrs.  Rogers  will  feel  hurt  if  you 
refuse  to  go  to  her  house.” 

“ Very  well,  I will  go  then  to  her.” 

“ Shake  out  those  dresses,  and  let  me  see  the  condition 
they  are  in.” 

Philippa  complied,  and  Sarah  gave  them  a close  ex- 
amination, and  accused  her  of  carelessness  and  extrava- 
gance, and  begged  to  know  if  it  was  impossible  for  her 
to  be  a credit  to  the  family, 

“ Credit !”  echoed  Philippa,  “ I don’t  like  that  word, 
and  do  not  mean  that  it  shall  be  used,  as  far  as  relates 
to  me.  As  for  carelessness,  to  please  you,  I’ll  amend ; 
as  for  extravagance,  I have  absolute  faith  in  my  own 
money.” 

“ Did  you  learn  that  at  school  ?” 

“From  one  of  the  family  preceptors — my  father,  Os- 
mond Luce.  I only  mention  my  faith  in  self-defence.” 

Sarah  threw  down  the  dress  she  had  in  her  hand,  and 
left  the  chamber.  Meeting  Jason  in  the  hall,  she  said, 
excitedly,  “We  have  hatched  a cockatrice.” 


56 


TWO-  MEN. 


“We!  Who?” 

“Philippa.” 

Jason  changed  his  mind  about  going  out,  and  returned 
to  the  parlor,  where  he  took  a chair  and  ruminated. 
When  Philippa  came  in,  ready  for  the  party,  he  raised 
his  eyes  and  scrutinized  her  sharply,  and  found  himself 
wondering  whether  all  cockatrices  had  pale  yellow  hair 
that  looked  as  if  about  to  float  into  the  air  like  the 
down  of  flowers.  There  was  something  strange  in  those 
speckled  eyes,  though ! 

She  wondered  what  he  was  so  abstractedly  staring  at. 

“ Are  you  a cockatrice  ?”  he  asked,  suddenly. 

Sarah  opened  the  door,  ready  also,  and  Philippa  turned 
a grave  look  towards  her,  with  an  expression  which  con- 
veyed to  him  that  she  knew  the  source  he  had  derived 
his  question  from. 

“ What  now  ?”  asked  Sarah,  contemptuously.  “ What 
makes  you  theatrical  ?” 

“Are  you  a cockatrice?”  Jason  repeated. 

“Yes,”  said  Philippa,  “I  am.” 

The  cold  sea-wind  blew  round  them  as  they  walked 
down  the  street,  leaving  Jason  still  in  the  parlor.  The 
monotonous  fall  of  the  waves  on  the  rocky  beach  in  the 
distance  sounded  in  Philippa’s  ears  like  the  old  march 
to  which  she  had  stepped  through  life  beside  Sarah. 
When  they  reached  the  row  of  weeping-willows  before 
Mrs.  Rogers’s  door,  she  said  : 

“Why  put  ideas  in  Jason’s  head  that  belong  to  you, 
Sarah  ?” 

Sarah  made  no  reply. 

“Tell  me,  upon  your  honor,”  and  Philippa  stopped 
here,  “whether  my  father  was  guilty  of  any  fraud 


TWO  MEN. 


57 


or  act  which  should  deprive  him  or  myself  of  our 
rights  ?” 

“ Let  go  my  shawl,  Philippa  Luce ; your  father  must 
answer  for  himself,  and  so  shall  you.” 

“ Once  for  all,  Cousin  Sarah,  give  me  the  information 
I ask  for,  or  I shall  compel  Jason  to  give  it  to  me.” 

“Have  you  got  a pistol  about  you,”  sneered  Sarah, 
“ to  enforce  your  demand  ?” 

Philippa  gently  shook  the  shawl  in  her  grasp,  but 
Sarah  felt  as  if  she  was  in  a vice  of  steel.  She  thought 
of  a diversion — a piece  of  cunning — which  was  elfectual. 

“ If  Parke  saw  you,  your  hand  would  fall  paralyzed. 
Philippa,  let  go  the  shawl.” 

“You  are  right,”  she  replied.  “But  I know  what 
you  only  could  say  because  you  refuse  to  speak.  I am 
satisfied  concerning  my  father.” 

Sarah  gave  a loud  knock  on  the  door,  which  brought 
Mrs.  Rogers  immediately. 

“ Why  didn’t  you  come  right  in  ? I am  no  hand  at 
ceremony,  you  know.  Is  this  Philippa  ? How  do  you 
do,  my  dear?  Welcome  home.  Take  off  your  things, 
and  walk  in  the  parlor.  The  company  are  all  here.” 

She  untied  Philippa’s  bonnet  and  smoothed  her  hair. 
“ Pretty  enough,”  she  said,  “ but  you  don’t  favor  your 
father  a bit.” 

“ How  is  Sam  ?”  Philippa  asked,  smiling  brightly,  for 
her  heart  was  warmed  by  Mrs.  Rogers’s  cordial  welcome. 

“ Sam’s  to  sea ; I guess  he’ll  be  gladder  than  ever  to 
get  home.  You  are  his  favorite,  you  know.” 

“ I shall  visit  you  often  till  he  comes.” 

“ So  do ; I am  a lonesome  old  thing.  Parke  used  to 
come,  especially  when  Sam  was  here,  and  I miss  him  too.” 


58 


TWO  MEN. 


She  led  the  way,  and  at  the  parlor  door  introduced,  in 
a loud  voice,  “ Mrs.  Auster  and  Philippa  Luce,  just  come 
home.”  There  was  a general  movement,  as  if  a new 
and  unexpected  element  was  admitted,  which  subsiding, 
the  conversation  began  again,  but  with  a forced  tone,  as 
if  the  talkers  felt  a critic  had  arrived.  But  Mrs.  Rogers, 
to  whom  44  kings  and  potentates,”  to  use  her  own  expres- 
sion, 44  were  no  more  than  just  so  many  worms,”  broke 
the  chill,  with  her  loud,  cheerful  voice  and  comfortable 
manner,  by  saying, 44  We  were  just  talking,  Mrs.  Auster, 
about  having  the  pulpit  new  covered — the  old  red  vel- 
vet is  in  rags,  for  it  has  not  been  changed  since  the  meet- 
ing-house was  built — and  what  color  we  should  have. 
I am  in  favor  of  green,  on  account  of  its  being  a good 
color  for  weak  eyes,  you  know.” 

Sarah  looked  towards  a young  man  of  composed  mien, 
who  was  twisting  his  watch-key,  and  smiled  when  she 
met  his  eye.  When  an  opportunity  occurred,  he  took  a 
seat  beside  her,  and  asked  if  she  believed  that  44  a minis- 
ter had  the  rights  of  a man.”  44  Mr.  Ritchings  must  re- 
member,” she  answered,  44  that  Mrs.  Rogers  was  some- 
thing of  a fool,  though  a good-natured  one,  and  that  she 
had  endeavored  to  adapt  her  conversation  to  the  taste 
of  the  company,  which  consisted  of  the  members  of  the 
church.”  He  sighed,  and  with  an  eye  wandering  in 
Philippa’s  direction,  said,  44  They  make  me  tired  of  it 
sometimes.  Is  that  your  ward,  Miss  Luce  ?” 

44  It  is.” 

44  She  has  a remarkable  face.” 

44 1 never  thought  so,”  and  Sarah  glanced  towards  her. 
44  But  perhaps  she  has  a peculiar  expression.  What  did 
you  think  of  Deacon  Blair’s  party  ?” 


TWO  MEN". 


59 


“ It  was  just  like  this.  Introduce  me  to  Miss  Luce, 
will  you — if  I may  ask  the  favor?” 

She  beckoned  to  Philippa,  who  was  obliged  to  betray 
the  shortness  of  her  dress,  for  there  was  a great  space  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  to  cross,  but  betrayed  no  con- 
fusion. She  bowed  coolly,  and  took  the  chair  which  he 
offered  her.  He  blushed  as  he  asked  her  some  trivial 
question  about  coming  home,  and  Sarah  felt  annoyed. 

“ Plum,  pound,  and  sponge,”  interrupted  Mrs.  Rogers, 
presenting  a piled-up  plate  of  cake.  “Philippa,  you 
know  what  my  cake  is.  I’ll  warrant  you  did  not  get 
better  at  boarding-school.” 

“I  did  not,  indeed,”  she  answered,  taking  a large 
piece. 

“ Ministers,”  Mrs.  Rogers  continued,  “ are  fondest  of 
plum-cake.” 

“ How  much  should  a young  one  eat  ?”  Mr.  Ritchings 
asked. 

“You  can  eat  as  much  of  my  cake  as  you  please,  for  it 
is  made  wholesome.” 

Sarah  joined  another  group,  while  Mr.  Ritchings  and 
Philippa  were  deciding  on  the  merits  of  the  cake,  but 
she  could  not  help  looking  in  that  direction  occasionally. 
A thought  that  Philippa  might  be  considered  attractive, 
presented  itself  to  her  unwilling  mind,  and  she  passed 
an  involuntary  criticism  on  her.  It  was  beyond  her 
power  to  analyze  the  character  of  Philippa’s  face,  but 
she  made  a disparaging  inventory  of  its  features.  Her 
wide  forehead,  eyebrows  so  arched  and  far  apart,  her 
pale  brown  eyes,  her  curved  solid  chin,  her  thin  lips, 
could  not  be  called  beautiful,  certainly ; but  Mr.  Ritch- 
ings at  the  same  time  came  to  a different  conclusion.  In 


60 


TWO  MEN. 


his  opinion,  those  vermilion  lips  were  like  the  delicate, 
flaming  leaves  of  some  tropical  flower,  and  her  beautiful 
yellow  hair  reminded  him  of  the  plumage  of  a tropical 
bird ; but  her  clear,  cold  eyes  were  like  the  tinted  ice- 
berg, which  rides  towards  its  fall  in  the  summer  sea.  He 
was  amazed  that  so  slight  a creature,  half-grown,  ap- 
parently, could  appear  so  dignified,  so  unimpressed ; yet 
there  was  a carelessness  in  her  manner  that  amounted  to 
audacity.  She  was  unconscious  of  his  scrutiny,  and  not 
only  ate  her  own  cake,  but  part  of  his,  taking  it  from  his 
plate  in  pinches. 

Somebody  said  that  it  rained,  and  everybody  started 
up  to  go.  Jason  arrived  with  umbrellas  and  overshoes, 
and  staid  in  the  entry  till  Sarah  came  out  of  the  parlor. 
He  had  a moment’s  affable  sparring  with  Mrs.  Rogers, 
however,  on  the  matter  of  his  never  coming  before  folks, 
his  not  doing  the  good  his  position  required  of  him,  and 
his  being  poor  company  for  his  wife. 

He  waved  her  off  with  a laugh,  and  beckoned  Philippa 
to  hurry,  but  still  he  was  obliged  to  wait  on  the  shell- 
paved  walk  while  Sarah  exchanged  a few  words  with 
Mr.  Ritchings. 

44  Are  you  going  to  be  fond  of  ministers,  Philippa  ?” 
he  asked.  46  They  take  up  a great  deal  of  time.” 

44  Not  if  they  are  over  pious. 


TWO  MEN. 


61 


CHAPTER  VII 

Either  tlie  rain  chilled  Philippa,  or  her  reception  at 
home,  for  she  began  to  feel  ill  in  a few  days  after  her 
return.  Shading  her  eyes  from  the  light,  she  crept  list- 
lessly from  room  to  room,  disinclined  to  speak,  eat,  or 
sleep.  Elsa  declaring  that  she  was  as  yellow  as  saffron, 
thought  her  suffering  from  one  of  her  old  attacks,  but 
the  doctor  pronounced  her  case  one  of  fever,  and  on  the 
ninth  day  she  was  delirious. 

Elsa  denied  her  delirium — said  that  she  was  light- 
headed for  the  want  of  sleep,  and  confused  with  the 
doctor’s  nasty  drugs ; but  one  night,  while  sitting  by 
her  bed,  she  changed  her  mind. 

Philippa  raised  her  little  hand  with  an  appealing  look 
and  said,  44  Don’t  bring  apple-blossoms ; pull  me  some 
magnolias,  mammy.” 

44  I’ll  bring  ’em  in  this  minute,  Philly,  if  you  will  be 
quiet,”  Elsa  answered,  her  heart  in  her  mouth. 

44  Where’s  my  rosary,  Philip  ? I have  not  had  it  since 
yesterday.” 

She  slipped  out  of  bed,  shook  the  pillows,  threw  the 
contents  of  her  work-box  on  the  floor,  while  Elsa  stood 
aghast  and  unprepared. 

44  Don’t  you  remember,  Philly  dear,”  she  said,  des- 
perately, 44  that  you  are  not  a Roman  Catholic  now,  and 
that  you  don’t  need  your  rosary  ?” 

44  My  rosary,”  cried  Philippa  in  a rage, 44  find  it,  or  I’ll 

6 


62 


TWO  MEN. 


flog  you  till  the  blood  runs.  Gloria  Patria — that 
ends  it.” 

And  she  began  to  strike  on  the  door  with  her  clinched 
hand,  crying  louder  and  louder,  “ My  rosary.” 

Sarah  heard  the  noise  and  ran  up  stairs ; Philippa’s 
countenance  changed  when  she  saw  her. 

“ You  have  hid  it,”  she  said  doggedly,  “ and  unless 
you  produce  it  I will  kill  myself.” 

“For  the  Lord’s  sake,  Sarah,  get  her  the  beads,  if 
they  are  in  the  land  of  the  living.” 

“ The  rosary,  Mrs.  Auster,  if  you  please,”  said  Phil- 
ippa ; “ look  in  the  depths  of  your  conscience  for  it.” 

“ I’ll  go  for  it,”  Sarah  replied  mildly,  and  whispered 
to  Elsa  that  she  had  no  idea  where  the  thing  was ; but 
it  was  found,  and  Philippa  consented  to  go  back  to  bed. 

The  delirium  ended  in  a stupor.  The  doctor  said  that 
her  hair  must  be  shorn,  and  Jason  was  called  to  assist  in 
the  operation;  he  caught  the  tresses  as  they  fell,  and 
looked  upon  them  as  one  might  look  upon  a friend  for 
the  last  time;  tears  dropped  from  his  eyes  which  he 
was  not  aware  of,  till  Sarah  told  him  that  if  he  was  go- 
ing to  be  overcome  by  a handful  of  hair,  he  would  not 
be  of  much  use  in  the  sick-room. 

While  she  lay  in  stupor,  Cuth  was  seized  with  a mor- 
tal illness,  which  compelled  Jason  to  watch  over  him. 
His  time  had  come,  Cuth  said ; he  knew  it,  because  to- 
bacco did  not  taste  good  any  longer.  He  begged  Jason 
to  bury  him  without  having  any  palavering,  and  to 
have  his  coffin  carried  out  at  the  back  door ; in  consid- 
eration of  having  these  requests  fulfilled,  he  made  a will 
in  Jason’s  favor,  for  he  had  a thousand  dollars  in  money, 
and  a thousand  dollars  in  land.  If  it  was  all  the  same 


TWO  MEN. 


63 


to  Mrs.  Auster,  he  would  like  to  be  buried  in  the  Parke 
lot.  Sarah  promised  him  that  he  should  be  laid  in  the 
desired  spot,  and  he  died,  silently  and  firmly,  like  a 
wolf.  The  day  of  his  funeral  was  the  day,  also,  of  the 
funeral  of  Gilbert’s  child ; when  it  was  over,  Mary,  his 
wife,  came  to  assist  Elsa,  and  remained  in  the  family 
from  that  time.  The  day  she  came  Philippa’s  doom  was 
pronounced ; a few  hours  more  would  close  the  scene, 
the  doctor  informed  Jason  and  Sarah.  Jason  wrote  to 
Parke  to  come  home,  and  then  disappeared.  Sarah,  ex- 
hausted, went  to  bed,  leaving  with  Philippa  Elsa,  whose 
last  office  seemed  to  be  to  moisten  her  poor  lips.  Jason 
returned  by  sundown,  and  wandered  through  all  the 
chambers  but  the  one  Philippa  was  in.  The  doctor 
came  again,  and  went  without  a word.  Towards  morn- 
ing Philippa’s  breath  was  so  far  gone,  that  Elsa  bent 
over  her  to  learn  if  it  had  not  stopped  forever ; but  she 
opened  her  eyes  wide,  and  said,  “ Jason  !” 

Elsa  called  him.  He  came  in  and  kneeled  by  the 
bed. 

“ Good-by,  Jason.  Thank  you.  Kiss  Parke,”  said 
Philippa,  in  a hoarse  voice,  and  again  closed  her  eyes. 
He  thought  her  dead ; but  Elsa  sent  for  the  doctor,  who 
said  she  had  fallen  into  a natural  sleep ; that  it  was  pos- 
sible she  would  not  die  after  all ; though  it  would  be 
curious  if  she  did  not,  for  the  consulting  physician,  Pot- 
ter, had  said  there  was  no  hope,  and  his  death-warrants 
had  never  failed. 

“ Sarah  Auster,”  exclaimed  Elsa,  breaking  into  her 
room  an  hour  or  two  after,  “ that  poor  creature  is  going 
to  live  after  all.  Mow  I can  turn  the  world  upside 
down  with  some  heart.  Come,  the  table  has  been 


\ 


64  TWO  MEN. 

spread  three  days,  and  not  cleared;  nobody  has  eaten 
any  thing.” 

Sarah  rose  up  in  bed,  with  a clear  perception  of  not 
being  rejoiced  at  Elsa’s  tidings.  She  must  go  on  with 
her  task ! Yawning,  she  asked  if  coffee  was  made. 

“ Coffin,  did  you  say  ?”  Elsa  retorted,  purposely  mis- 
understanding her. 

“ Elsa,  are  you  a fool  ? I said  coffee.” 

“ What  do  you  suppose  I have  made,  motherwort  tea  ? 
That  is  bitter,  you  know — as  bitter  as  gall  and  worm- 
wood.” 

“ Herb-tea  and  medicine  will  run  in  your  head  for 
weeks.  I am  glad  there  will  be  an  end  to  drugs.  Ja- 
son has  been  up  all  night,  I suppose.  I’ll  go  up  and  at- 
tend to  Philippa ; she  must  have  something  to  nourish 
her  immediately.” 

Jason  left  the  sick-room  to  her,  sauntered  into  the 
yard,  and  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  a shed.  His 
dogs,  Ike  and  Jake,  came  and  laid  their  noses  on  his 
knee. 

“ Good-by,”  he  repeated,  pulling  their  ears.  “ Thank 
you.  Kiss  Parke.” 

The  dogs  whimpered  and  beat  the  ground  with  their 
tails,  while  he  gazed  abstractedly  into  their  eyes,  which 
were  limpid  with  love  and  hunger.  Elsa  called  him 
to  breakfast,  and  they  followed  him  into  the  dining- 
room. 

“ ’Tis  no  matter  for  once,”  she  said,  more  amicably 
eying  them,  as  they  squatted  beside  him,  than  was  her 
wont.  Sarah  came  in,  and  Jason  involuntarily  looked 
at  her  for  sympathy.  She  saw  his  agitation. 

“Well,”  she  remarked,  “the  siege  is  raised.  You 


TWO  MEN. 


65 


have  been  anxious,  Jason.  Philippa  rivals  your  dogs — 
doesn’t  she  ? and  they  are  jealous.” 

Elsa  wished  in  her  heart  that  they  had  Sarah  between 
their  teeth,  and  shaking  the  devil  out  of  her.  Jason 
tossed  a mouthful  to  them  and  answered : “ Hardly, 
but  I wished  her  to  live.” 

“ If  the  pains  we  have  taken  can  prolong  life,  she  will® 
outlive  us  all.” 

“ You  have  done  your  best,  Sarah,  that  I know,  and 
so  has  Elsa.  As  for  me,  my  mission  as  usual  has  been 
— uselessness.” 

“ I couldn’t  help  doing  my  best,”  said  Elsa. 

Parke  arrived  the  next  day,  with  a pair  of  horses  that 
he  had  hired  in  the  town  where  he  found  he  must  wait 
for  a train  to  Crest. 

“ How  is  she  ?”  he  asked ; “ where  is  she  ?” 

“ In  her  room,”  his  mother  answered,  without  deran- 
ging herself.  But  Elsa  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led 
him  thither.  He  was  so  shocked  at  the  change  in  Phil- 
ippa, that  he  could  not  speak.  Her  languid  eyes  rested 
on  his  fresh,  fair  face,  and  rivers  of  tears  flowed  from 
them ; he  was  touched,  and  wept  with  her,  but  he  felt  a 
painful  physical  repugnance  at  the  sight  of  her. 

“ There,”  said  Elsa,  with  a slight  sniff,  “ if  you  are 
going  to  act  so,  you  must  go  right  away,  Parke ; the 
time  for  crying  has  gone  by  !” 

“ I am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Parke,”  said  Philippa. 

“ I am  so  sorry  to  find  you  sick.  How  you  must  have 
suffered  ! But  it  is  over  now.” 

“ Look  at  my  hair.” 

“ I don’t  see  any.” 

6* 


66 


TWO  MEN. 


“ Your  hair  will  grow  out  handsomer  than  ever  in  no 
time,”  interrupted  Elsa. 

“ Yes,  indeed,”  said  Parke.  “ I hope  you  will  be 
well  immediately,  for  I do  not  mean  to  go  next  term.  I 
shall  stay  here.” 

“ Oh,  Parke,  you  must  go  through.” 

• He  shook  his  head. 

“ There,  there,”  Elsa  broke  in,  “ colleges  or  no  col- 
leges,  you  must  go  down  stairs,  Parke.” 

“ Come  up  early  to-morrow,”  Philippa  begged,  “ and 
tell  me  what  you  mean  to  do.” 

He  promised,  kissing  his  hand  to  her,  and  smiling 
himself  outside  the  door ; but  as  soon  as  it  was  shut,  he 
shuddered. 

“ So  Cuth  is  dead,  Elsa  ? I thought  he  was  good  for 
years  yet.” 

“ He  was  tough ; but  it  is  all  the  same  to  death — 
tough  and  rough,  tender  and  delicate,  when  he  appears 
with  his  broom,  we  are  brushed  off  like  so  much  dust 
into  a dust-pan.” 

“ Poor  Cuth  ! he  belonged  to  us  heart  and  soul.” 

“For  good  wages.  Whether  he  belongs  to  the 
Parkes  in  heaven,  depends  on  what  they  can  pay  there. 
Gilbert  can  take  his  place  here  very  well,  and  we  must 
hire  an  additional  man.” 

“We  must,  for  I mean  to  have  additional  horses. 
Where’s  mother  ? I want  her.” 

“ Now,  Parke,  don’t  pray  keep  us  in  hot  water  about 
this  college  business  ; go  back.  Are  you  going  to  turn 
out  shiftless,  like  some  of  your  relatives  ?” 

“ Shut  your  mouth,  Elsa ; do  you  suppose  that  I am 
not  aware  of  my  intentions,  clearly  and  plainly  ? I 


TWO  MEN. 


67 


have  stayed  from  home  three  years  because  I liked  it,  not 
because  I wanted  to  be  fitted  for  college,  or  to  go 
through  college.  Old  woman,  I know  when  I want  a 
thing,  and  how  I want  it,  better  than  anybody  else.” 

He  spoke  so  pleasantly,  and  with  such  a lively  air  of  in- 
terest in  the  “thing”  he  wanted,  that  she  began  to  feel 
personally  concerned  in  his  obtaining  it.  She  said  no 
more.  His  mother  vehemently  opposed  his  remaining 
at  home ; it  was  not  worthy  of  him  to  leave  a task  un- 
finished ; he  would  be  accused  of  a distaste  for  scholar- 
ship. She  consulted  Jason  even,  but  obtained  no  satis- 
faction. He  replied,  that  he  did  not  believe  in  educa- 
tion ; he  was  not  surprised  at  Parke’s  being  weary  of 
playing  at  knowledge  ; he  imagined  that  of  the  two 
sorts  of  men — those  who  were  taught  by  systems,  and 
those  who  made  them — Parke  would  prefer  the  latter ; 
and  that  he  would  create  one  himself  and  bring  it  to 
perfection — the  art  of  amusement.  And  why  not  ? 

In  vain  she  urged  Parke  to  return.  He  had  made  up 
his  mind,  he  said,  to  stay  at  home,  and  he  hoped  that 
she  would  not  find  him  disagreeable. 

In  his  absence,  he  declared,  the  dust  of  antiquity  had 
gathered  over  the  house ; but  it  was  blown  away  before 
he  had  been  there  many  days.  A piano  came  with  his 
baggage,  cases  of  books,  pictures,  and  numberless  trifles. 
All  outside  of  college  life,  Jason  observed  to  Sarah,  and 
better  established  at  Crest  than  elsewhere.  Parke  was 
so  occupied  that  he  only  found  time  to  visit  Philippa  a 
few  moments  each  day,  but  he  said  so  much  of  his  plans 
that  he  left  food  for  thought.  • 

Until  she  was  able  to  leave  her  room — and  her  recov- 
ery was  slow — Jason  was  assiduously  attentive.  Her 


68 


TWO  MEN. 


ugly,  helpless  convalescence,  removed  his  coldness  and 
shyness;  hut  from  the  day  she  came  down  stairs  he 
subsided  so  completely  into  his  old  self,  that  the  remem- 
brance of  his  care  and  anxiety  merged  into  the  dream 
her  illness  grew  to  be.  Her  life  was  absorbed  in 
Parke’s. 


TWO  MEN. 


69 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  name  of  Theresa  Bond  appeared  often  in  the 
reminiscences  of  Philippa’s  school  life  with  which  she 
sometimes  entertained  Parke.  When  she  showed  him 
the- daguerreotype  of  her  friend — a splendidly  handsome 
girl — he  suggested  that  she  should  he  invited  to  Crest. 
Philippa  wrote  her  accordingly,  and  the  invitation  was 
accepted.  She  arrived  at  the  appointed  day,  and  when 
Parke  saw  her  he  was  satisfied  with  the  prospect  her 
coming  offered ; so  was  she.  That  day  a summer  rain 
fell  from  morning  till  evening ; it  sheeted  the  windows 
with  mist,  hummed  against  the  doors,  and  smote  the 
roof  with  steady  blows.  Jason  found  sufficient  excuse 
in  it  for  once  to  remain  at  home,  for  even  he  felt  a curi- 
osity regarding  the  visitor ; his  way  of  gratifying  it  en- 
tirely concealed  his  object.  He  lounged  in  the  distance, 
or,  if  he  followed  Parke,  Philippa,  and  Theresa,  from 
room  to  room,  he  appeared  to  do  so  from  an  interest  he 
took  in  the  books,  engravings,  and  knick-knacks,  which 
were  strewed  everywhere. 

It  was  a day  to  discuss  character,  Parke  said,  and  to 
make  confessions ; the  afternoon  was  before  them  where 
to  choose.  It  was  a wonderful  spectacle  to  Jason,  when 
he  beheld  the  ease  and  adaptability  of  Parke’s  manner, 
while  seated  between  the  girls  on  a sofa.  Theresa  chat- 
tered like  a magpie  of  her  passionate  likings,  her  ven- 
omous dislikings,  while  Philippa’s  office  was  that  of 


70 


TWO  MEN. 


listener  to  both.  Occasionally  Parke  took  her  hand, 
carelessly  patting  it,  and  dropping  it  forgetfully,  as  he 
appealed  to  her  to  ratify  his  opinions.  The  effect  he 
produced  reacted  upon  himself,  and  increased  his  amia- 
ble vivacity.  They  were  happy.  That  summer  day 
might  have  extended  over  a week,  a month,  a year,  per- 
haps, and  his  sense  of  enjoyment  in  this  happiness  have 
lasted.  But  when  the  prince  hovering  over  the  lips  of 
the  Sleeping  Beauty  touched  them,  the  palace  was  dis- 
enchanted. 

Theresa  played  a brilliant  fantasia  on  the  piano,  which 
made  Jason’s  ears  ring;  he  went  to  a window  remote 
from  the  piano,  and  through  the  streaming  pane  saw  a 
pair  of  robins,  ruftled  with  the  rain,  flying  into  the 
branches  of  a fir  below  the  terrace,  and  piping  a song  in 
its  shelter  which  soothed  him.  He  looked  towards  Phil- 
ippa, who  had  quietly  gone  to  the  centre-table,  intent 
upon  restoring  it  to  order.  Parke  stood  beside  Theresa, 
following  her  music  with  the  delight  of  an  artist. 

“You  play  and  sing  by  ear,  Philippa  says;  do  try 
something,”  she  begged. 

He  complied,  and  sang  a Polish  melody,  so  vivacious, 
yet  so  passionate  and  melancholy,  that  she  was  electri- 
fied ; even  Philippa  felt  that  he  sang  with  a new  spirit. 
Sarah  looked  in  at  the  door,  a linen  apron  in  her  hand, 
and  passed  on,  with  a pleasant  picture  in  her  mind. 
When  Parke  began  to  sing,  Jasoii  moved  from  his 
place,  near  Philippa,  and  asked  her,  in  a low  voice,  if 
she  understood  that  outlandish  music. 

“No,”  she  answered;  “but  I like  it.” 

“There’s  a couple  of  robins  outside  doing  quite  as 
well,  in  my  way  of  thinking:.” 


TWO  MEK, 


71 


He  then  betook  himself  with  his  book  to  the  panelled 
parlor  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  but  it  was  not 
long  before  his  solitude  was  invaded.  Theresa  having 
revealed  that  one  of  her  passions  was  old  annuals,  they 
came  in  to  look  over  the  contents  of  an  ancient  mahog- 
any bookgase,  whose  doors,  covered  with  green  silk, 
had  not  been  opened  for  a long  time.  “Gems”  were 
disinterred  from  the  top  shelves — “Friendship’s  Offer- 
ings” and  “Keepsakes,”  the  Kew  Year’s  gifts  of  Parke 
and  Philippa’s  childish  days. 

“These  make  me  feel  a boy  again,”  said  Parke,  “when 
life  wasn’t  ‘ full  of  sunny  years.’  ” 

Why  not?  thought  Philippa.  But  she,  too,  had 
chronicles  for  those  times. 

“ Some  of  the  pictures  are  deliciously  funny,”  said 
Theresa.  “‘Contemplation,’  for  instance.  How  came 
you  by  such  a lot  ?” 

“ Kew  Year’s  presents,”  Parke  replied.  “ How  many 
belong  to  you,  Philippa  ?” 

“ Seven.” 

“ Do  you  remember  that  Saturday  night,  when  mother 
came  home  from  some  journey,  and  brought  ‘Tales  of 
the  Revolution,’  which  we  both  began  to  read  Sunday 
morning,  and  that  she  took  it  from  you,  and  made  you 
go  to  church  ? I stayed  at  home,  and  finished  it.” 

“ Why  did  she  do  that  ?”  Theresa  asked.  “ Why  did 
she  not  make  you  go  ?” 

“ Why  didn’t  she  make  me  go,  Philippa  ?”  Parke 
echoed. 

J ason  smiled  faintly,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  Theresa’s 
face  ; he  listened  for  Philippa’s  reply,  but  she  made  none. 

“ Why  didn’t  she  ?”  Parke  repeated,  nipping  her  ear. 


72 


TWO  MEN. 


..  As  Philippa  continued  dumb,  Theresa  concluded  to 
change  the  subject,  and  make  Parke  forget  his  question. 
She  plunged  into  the  annuals  again,  but  Jason  pondered 
over  Philippa’s  silence.  As  he  thought  of  it  he  became 
conscious  of  feeling  worried,  mystified,  unsettled.  What 
could  it  be  ? He  would  not  be  housed  up  anpther  day ; 
he  believed  one  such  day  was  as  a thousand  years. 
What  did  that  young  lady  remind  him  of?  The  tiger- 
lily  in  the  back  garden,  which  Ike  had  barked  at  the  day 
before  ! Books,  music,  fine  talk,  did  not  suit  him ; they 
were  for  Parke,  who  became  them  so  well.  Then  his 
thoughts  wandered  to  the  day  when  he  thought  Philip- 
pa was  dying,  and  to  the  words  which  he  supposed  her 
last.  He  rose  involuntarily,  and  stretched  himself  to  his 
full  height;  he  was  towering.  Theresa’s  glance  fell 
upon  him  and  rested  there.  Their  eyes  met,  and  Jason, 
returning  her  glance  with  an  honest,  unabashed  gaze, 
stalked  out  of  the  room.  She  suddenly  found  a style  of 
coiffure  in  the  portraits  of  u Beauty,”  and  dragged  Phil- 
ippa away  to  experiment  upon  it. 

At  tea-time  they  reappeared.  Parke  snapped  his 
fingers  at  Theresa,  and  wdiistled  the  Bolero.  Her  glossy 
black  hair,  dressed  in  Spanish  fashion,  fastened  by  a 
high-topped  shell-comb,  one  of  Sarah’s  treasures — with 
a red  rose  on  one  side  of  her  head,  and  a black  lace 
scarf  on  the  other,  brought  out  the  warmest  tints  of  her 
dusky  beauty.  Philippa  looked  strangely  unlike  her- 
self ; her  short  hair  clung  round  her  head  in  a mass  of 
ringlets — vivid  golden  rings.  A wide  scarlet  ribbon 
hung  down  each  side  of  her  face,  on  the  ends  of  which 
Theresa  had  pinned  bunches  of  delicate  green  leaves. 
A large,  loose  cape  of  spotted  white  lace  was  adjusted 


TWO  MEN. 


73 


on  her  shoulders,  like  a robe,  and  her  bare,  slender  arms 
were  decorated  with  bands  of  black  velvet.  Tim  impas- 
sive character  of  her  chin  and  forehead  was  brought  out 
by  this  dress,  and  its  violent  contrast  of  colors  revealed 
the  imperfection  of  her  complexion,  and  the  curious 
specks  in  the  brown  irises  of  her  eyes. 

“ She  is  hideous,”  said  Parke. 

“ She  is  not,”  affirmed  Theresa ; “ she  is  the  American 
Sphinx.” 

Sarah  gave  a shrill  laugh  ; not  that  she  comprehended 
the  allusion,  but  there  seemed  a fitness  in  it  which  grati- 
fied her.  Jason,  in  his  place  at  the  tea-table,  removed 
his  eyes  from  the  cold  joint  he  was  carving,  and  said : 
“ She  is  the  Genius  of  the  Republic.” 

Philippa  was  profoundly  indifferent  to  her  appearance. 
Never  was  creature  more  free  from  vanity.  She  com- 
posedly ate  her  cold  meat  and  drank  her  tea,  forgetting 
that  she  was  en  costume , except  when  the  ends  of  her 
wide  head-dress  flapped  across  her  mouth. 

With  the  tea  night  came — a harder  rain  and  thicker 
mist.  Theresa  threw  up  a window,  and  from  habit,  Sa- 
rah and  Philippa,  and  even  Parke,  drew  back  from  the 
wind  and  mist  which  rushed  in,  but  she  delighted  in  the 
atmosphere,  and  expressed  a desire  for  a walk.  Jason 
instantly  felt  a sentiment  of  respect  for  her,  and  in  its 
blush  suggested  “ India-rubber  boots.” 

The  suggestion  was  exclaimed  against,  and  Sarah  ob- 
served to  him,  that  he  need  not  suppose,  because  he 
passed  so  much  of  his  life  in  India  rubbers,  that  any- 
body besides  would  fancy  doing  so. 

“ What  do  you  do  in  them,  Mr.  Auster  ?”  asked  The- 
resa. 


1 


74 


TWO  MEN. 


Sarah  hastened  to  reply  for  him : “ He  lives  in  the 
woods — going  through  the  ceremony  of  carrying  a gun — 
or,  on  the  water,  manoeuvring  With  a boat.” 

“ Pleasing  and  harmless  pursuits,”  added  Jason,  with 
a peculiar  smile. 

“ He  has  stayed  at  home  one  day,  though,”  Parke  re- 
marked, “ because  something  new  has  happened.” 

“ I am  sure  we  have  company  enough  for  him  to  re- 
main with  us,  but  he  never  does,”  said  Sarah. 

“ NT  one  half  so  delightful  as  the  present,”  said  Parke. 

Theresa  blushed  beautifully. 

The  voice  of  the  sea  grew  loud.  Its  short  yelp  came 
up  to  the  house,  to  fall  back  baffled,  and  wail  despair- 
ingly along  the  shore. 

“The  people  don’t  appear  to  mind  that  mad  music 
outside,”  thought  Theresa. 

“ Do  shut  that  window,  Miss  Bond,”  entreated  Sarah. 

The  water  is  terrible  to-night. 

“ You  will  take  cold,”  said  Philippa. 

Theresa  closed  it,  but  remained  with  her  face  close  to 
the  pane.  A moment  afterwards  Parke  stood  beside  her. 

“You  think  us  insensible  to  the  influences  of  the 
spot,”  he  said ; “ but  you  do  not  understand  what  a per- 
petual struggle  is  going  on  between  us  and  the  climate. 
The  wind,  fog,  damp,  and  rain,  frost  and  ice,  are  the 
causes  which  compel  us  to  combat  for  a time  for  business, 
pleasure,  and  repose — to  say  nothing  of  health.  For 
my  part,  I like  to  forget  4 Nature,’  as  I have  to-day.” 


TWO  MEN. 


75 


CHAPTER  IX. 

It  was  a merry,  restless  life  which  prevailed  now. 
Something  new  was  taking  place — a different  develop- 
ment— and  all  because  Theresa  Bond  was  paying  a visit 
of  a few  weeks  to  several  people  who  interested  her. 

They  were  alive  with  life,  and  did  not  know  it — that 
was  her  opinion.  A new  brand  is  sometimes  wanted  to 
kindle  up  the  embers  of  a smouldering  fire,  and  this  was 
the  office  she  performed:  and  then  “all  the  winds  of  the 
world  blew  up  the  flames.” 

The  individual  independence  of  the  family  first  struck 
her.  Apparently  no  member  of  it  involved  another  in 
any  pursuit,  opinion,  or  interest,  except  Parke,  who  in- 
volved Philippa.  Elsa  was  the  only  one  able  to  spin 
the  threads  together  on  the  family  distaff.  It  could  not 
have  been  so  always.  There  was  an  air  of  transmitted 
habit  grafted  on  the  ways  of  the  house,  which  proved 
its  age  and  pride.  This  accounted  for  various  incon- 
gruities in  their  style  of  living,  which,  at  first,  surprised  * 
the  city-bred,  aristocratic  Theresa.  Sarah  and  Philippa 
were  engaged  much  of  the  time  in  house-work  and  sew- 
ing. Philippa  did  what  she  had  been  accustomed  to  do 
from  a child,  and  Sarah  assisted  Elsa  everywhere.  There 
was  an  utter  absence  of  ceremony  and  display  at  the 
table,  and  over  the  house.  Parke  smoked  and  read  the 
newspapers  in  the  kitchen,  and  Elsa  shelled  beans  in  the 
parlor.  The  errands  came  in  at  the  front  door,  and 
visitors  at  the  back  door,  whenever  it  suited  the  conve- 


76 


TWO  MEN. 


nience  of  the  respective  parties,  and  were  en, 
wherever  they  were  met.  Yet  the  prestige  which  money 
gives  was  not  lacking. 

In  spite  of  their  different  idiosyncrasies,  they  were 
much  together,  and  all  the  rooms  were  occupied  in  com- 
mon. Jason  was  rarely  at  home,  it  is  true,  hut  if  there, 
he  lounged  about  in  his  odd  way,  brooding  in  a corner 
of  the  kitchen  hearth,  musing  in  the  parlor  windows, 
sitting  on  the  door-steps,  or  lying  among  the  bushes  on 
the  terrace. 

Theresa  had  no  key  to  the  family  history,  except  the 
fact  of  Philippa’s  being  a pupil  at  Madame  Mara’s.  That 
was  a proof  of  means  and  respectability,  for  Madame 
never  admitted  anybody  without  these  antecedents. 
Philippa  was  not  communicative:  she  was  a mystery, 
and  mystery  piqued  Theresa.  She  made  advances  to- 
wards Philippa,  who'  responded,  but  in  a provoking,  reti- 
cent way.  A theory  started  itself  in  Theresa’s  mind, 
which  she  imparted  to  her — that  from  the  negation  of 
her  character,  and  the  utter  absence  of  the  dramatic  in  her 
nature,  a tragedy  would  one  day  come,  fall  on  her,  and 
devour  her,  as  the  wolf  devoured  Red  Riding  Hood. 
Philippa  not  only  returned  Theresa’s  regard,  but  was 
grateful  to  her  for  aid  extended  in  various  ways.  The- 
resa was  a fine  scholar — an  adept  in  the  art  of  dress, 
full  of  finesse.  Philippa  was  dull  at  her  books,  devoid 
of  taste,  and  devoid  of  tact.  Theresa  smoothed  away 
her  difficulties,  attempted  to  polish  her,  with  a slight 
degree  of  success,  and  learned  to  love  her  still  more. 

The  friendly  relations  immediately  established  be- 
tween Theresa  and  her  family  so  thawed  Philippa’s 
silence,  that  when  Theresa  one  day  said,  “ Your  Cousin 


TWO  ME  Y. 


77 


Jason  is  eccentric,”  she  did  not  parry  the  remark,  but 
replied,  “ Because  he  is  quiet  ?” 

“ Did  you  never  notice  him  ?” 

“ I have  not  speculated  on  this  point  of  eccentricity. 
Why  do  you  ask?  You  say  I never  study  those  about 
me.” 

“ It  seems  to  me  that  he  has  not  found  his  vocation.” 

“ He  changed  it.  When  he  married  Cousin  Sarah  he 
was  a carpenter.” 

“ Dear  me,”  said  Theresa,  eying  Philippa  with  a one- 
sided glance,  like  that  of  a cunning  bird,  “ you  are  re- 
freshing.” 

“ He  is  my  guardian.” 

“ Are  you  rich  enough  for  that  ?” 

“Parke  and  I,  both.  We  inherit  our  great-grand- 
father’s property.” 

“ That  is  when  Jason  has  done  with  his  share.” 

“ Jason  ! he  has  nothing.” 

“ Why  not  ? Your  Cousin  Sarah  comes  into  the  prop- 
erty before  Parke,  and  what  is  hers  is  her  husband’s.” 

“ Oh  no,”  said  Philippa,  seriously,  “ it  was  not  fixed 
so.  Parke  and  I have  it  all — or  will  soon.” 

“Jason’s  position,  then,  is  inferior  to  his  wife’s,  his 
son’s,  and  yours  ?” 

“ I never . thought  of  it.  What  a way  you  have  of 
representing  things !” 

“ I like  him,”  exclaimed  Theresa,  after  a pause  ; “ he 
is  dignified  and  single-minded ; but  whether  he  has 
much  heart  I have  not  yet  learned.” 

It  was  evident  to  Philippa  that  Theresa  was  upon  one 
of  her  “ clues.” 

“He  is  honest,”  she  declared,  after  another  pause. 
** 


78 


TWO  MEN. 


“ What  will  you  do  with  money  ? When  are  you  going 
to  begin  to  spend  it  ?” 

“ What  would  you  do  with  it  ?” 

“I  would  not  be  stingy.” 

“ I dare  say  you  will  call  me  so ; I rarely  have  gener- 
ous impulses.  Parke  is  always  giving.  I think  I shall 
keep  my  money.” 

“You  will  save  it  for  some  spendthrift ; then  hey  for 
my  tragedy.  Property  is  always  dispersed  in  the  course 
of  a generation  or  two.” 

“ My  idea  is  consolidation.” 

“Jason  would  help  you  in  that — nobody  else.” 

“ How  do  you  know  that  ?”  Philippa  cried,  irritably. 

“ W ould  Parke  ? W ould  your  relative  Sarah  ?” 

“I  won’t  be  dragged  into  one  of  your  analytical 
abysses,  Theresa ; so  let  me  alone.” 

“ For  the  present,  then  ; but  I shall  not  give  you  up, 
since  I have  seen  oysters  in  an  aquarium.” 

Parke  planned  admirably  for  Theresa’s  amusement. 
A saddle-horse  arrived  one  day.  She  improvised  a habit 
and  rode  with  him  constantly;  they  scoured  the  coun- 
try, inspired  with  the  hope  of  picturesque  discovery, 
leaving  Philippa  at  home — with  her  idea  of  consolida- 
tion, probably.  They  described  their  tours  with  anima- 
tion, and  Jason,  if  present,  never  failed  to  say  that  he 
and  his  dogs  had  been  on  the  same  rounds ; but  to  Phil- 
ippa the  descriptions  were  novel,  for  she  knew  nothing 
of  the  country. 

“ Why  don’t  you  take  walks  ?”  asked  Sarah,  when  she 
heard  her  say  so. 

“Why  not  try  boating?”  Jason  asked,  before  she 
could  reply. 


TWO  MEN.  79 

“ Boating,”  exclaimed  Theresa ; “ oh,  yes,  why  hasn’t 
it  been  thought  of  before  ?” 

“ I cannot  manage  a boat,”  said  Parke. 

u Jason  will  go  with  you,”  said  Sarah,  graciously. 

“ Yes,  once,”  he  answered,  roughly. 

“ Let  us  have  a party,  then,”  said  Parke.  u Mother, 
will  you  go  ?” 

“ I am  afraid  of  the  water.” 

“ Well,  then,  Philippa,  Miss  Bond,  myself,  and  father.” 

Jason  remarked  that  Philippa  was  afraid  of  the  water, 
too,  and  he  thought  it  likely  Parke  was  ; but  if  he  could 
rely  on  Miss  Bond,  sufficient  courage  could  be  mustered 
for  a short  sail. 

Sarah  thought  of  Mr.  Pitching s,  and,  without  consult- 
ing any  one,  sent  him  an  invitation  to  join  the  party. 
The  next  morning  he  made  his  appearance  without  an 
overcoat,  and  in  a suit  of  summer  clothes. 

“ The  merciful  man!”  exclaimed  Elsa,  when  she  saw 
him  coming  in  at  the  gate.  “ Who  asked  him  ?” 

u I did,”  Sarah  said,  in  a serene  voice. 

“ Let  him  go,  Elsa,”  Jason  laughed. 

There  was  a land  breeze,  the  waves  ran  from  the 
shore,  and  the  bay  looked  almost  smooth. 

Philippa  brought  out  cloaks  and  thick  shawls,  and 
recommended  a lashing  down  of  hats  and  bonnets. 

“ How  comes  she  to  know  that  it  is  blowing  outside  ?” 
J ason  asked  Elsa.  “ She  never  went  sailing.” 

“ Why,  yes,  you  forget  she  made  a voyage  more  than 
eight  years  ago.” 

“ True ; why  she  is  a woman,  isn’t  she  ?” 

u If  she  isn’t  she  never  will  be ; the  time  will  come, 
before  you  know  it,  when  she  will  be  of  age.” 


80 


TWO  MEN. 


“All  hands,  ahoy,”  called  Sarah,  moving  down  the 
walk  beside  Mr.  Ritchings,  and  accompanied  by  Gilbert, 
who  carried  a basket  of  provisions.  She  was  so  lively 
that  the  rest  of  the  party  were  silenced.  Theresa  heard 
her  bandying  jokes  with  Mr.  Ritchings  with  surprise, 
and  concluded  she  was  a moral  mine,  and  that  it  would 
not  do  to  walk  over  her.  As  the  boat  left  the  wharf 
she  turned  and  walked  slowly  home,  drawing  a full 
breath  when  she  entered  the  door,  and  experiencing  an 
unwonted  sense  of  relief.  Through  the  empty  rooms 
she  passed  as  if  she  was  seeking  a spirit  she  had  no  hope 
of  finding — the  “something  beautiful”  which  had  van- 
ished from  her  life.  Perhaps  its  airy  nothingness  came 
the  nearest  to  a habitation  in  Parke’s  room.  She  lin- 
gered there  and  inspected  his  belongings ; they  were 
scattered  everywhere,  letters,  boots,  gloves,  hats,  da- 
guerreotypes, crumpled  handkerchiefs.  Ends  of  cigars 
and  opened  books  were  lying  on  his  bed,  the  table,  and 
window-seat ; his  watch  was  run  down,  and  all  the  stop- 
pers were  out  of  his  perfume-bottles.  From  this  confu- 
sion there  was  a subtle,  delicate  emanation,  which  could 
only  belong  to  him.  Idly  opening  several  of  the  pic- 
ture-cases, which  contained  the  likenesses  of  his  college- 
chums,  she  came  upon  that  of  Theresa,  which  he  had 
borrowed  of  Philippa.  Suppose  he  should  marry  The- 
resa ! She  wondered  if  it  would  be  agreeable  to  Philip- 
pa ! There  was  a belief  in  Sarah’s  mind,  like  a fatality, 
that  she  was  so  devoted  to  Parke  she  would  not  marry 
herself,  but  that  his  marriage  would  be  the  most  impor- 
tant event  of  her  life.  All  that  she  had  done  from  a 
child  went  to  prove  that  she  was  to  be  a sort  of  human 
providence  in  his  career.  Sarali  was  also  fixed  in  a be- 


TWO  MEN. 


81 


lief  that  she  was  not  a girl  to  be  sought  or  loved,  or  de- 
sired to  be.  The  idea  of  his  marriage  was  painful  even 
to  herself ; she  questioned  whether  mothers  were  ever 
glad  of  a son’s  marriage.  A bitter  lonely  feeling  came 
over  her,  and  hot  tears  welled  into  her  eyes,  which  Elsa 
interrupted : 

“ What  time  may  we  expect  them  ?”  she  asked,  pre- 
tending not  to  see  Sarah’s  tears. 

“ About  nine,  I think.” 

“And  we  must  have  a hot  supper.  Of  course  the 
parson  will  stay  to  it  ?” 

“ Certainly — why  not  ?” 

“Nothing;  only  he  is  after  our  Philippa.  You 
needn’t  contradict,  Sarah.  He  looks  at  her  when  he  is 
preaching  even.  He  hasn’t  had  his  eyes  off  her  this 
day,  unless  he  has  been  sea-sick.” 

“ Why  hasn’t  Mary  put  Parke’s  room  to  rights  ?” 

“ What  is  the  use  of  putting  his  room  in  order  ? I 
pity  the  woman  lie  marries.” 

“ Matrimory  runs  in  your  head,  Elsa  ?” 

“Wouldn’t  it  be  wise  in  you  to  think  of  the  possibili- 
ty of  somebody’s  being  married  ? Or  do  you  expect  to 
cut  and  carve  everybody  into  an  eternal  single  blessed- 
ness ?” 

“ Mr.  Patchings  is  friendly  and  polite — nothing 
more.” 

“ Oh,  that  is  all,  is  it  ? Mary  says  that  Gilbert  says 
the  whole  town  declares  that  Mr.  Pitchings  is  in  love 
with  Philippa.  We’ll  shut  the  town  up.” 

“ Never  mind,  Elsa,  don’t  speak  of  it ; gossip  irritates 
me  ; but  I shall  forget  presently.” 

“ Ministers  are  such  a mark,  you  know,”  said  Elsa, 


82 


TWO  MEN. 


her  anger  all  gone ; “ but  any  how  he  shall  have  a good 
supper.” 

“ If  you  please,  Elsa.” 

“ What  ails  her  now  ?”  queried  Elsa,  on  the  way  down 
stairs.  “ Something  or  other  discourages  me.  I wish  I 
could  find  out  who  is  doing  it.  Ministers  are  a mark, 
and  I don’t  know  that  I blame  her  for  getting  mad,  but 
that  man  is  in  love  with  Philippa — and — her  money.” 

Sarah,  still  restless,  went  up  garret,  towards  sunset, 
to  look  over  the  bay.  The  wind  had  died  away,  and 
the  tide  was  out ; the  sea  lay  within  its  rim  of  yellow 
rocks,  that  looked  alive  with  stirring  snaky  weeds,  like 
a blue,  wrinkled  banner.  Not  a sail  dotted  its  wide 
surface.  Jason  and  his  companions  were  not  within  its 
limits. 


TWO  MEN. 


83 


CHAPTER  X 

“ Where  does  the  wind  come  from?”  Theresa  asked. 
“ It  makes  no  flurry,  yet  its  force  keeps  the  water  flat.” 

u When  it  blows  from  the  north  at  this  time  of  year,” 
said  Jason,  “it  blows  strong;  but  we  shall  have  no  flaws 
with  it,” 

Philippa  looked  up  at  him  reassured. 

“ You  are  scared,  Philippa,”  he  said. 

“ Let  me  sit  on  the  other  side,”  she  begged ; “ there  is 
very  little  boat  between  me  and  the  water  here.” 

“ Stay  where  you  are.  I shall  cross  the  bay  presently ; 
with  the  wind  behind  us,  the  boat  will  right.” 

“ This  is  fine,”  Parke  remarked ; “ we  glide  over 
glass.” 

“ Splendid,”  replied  Mr.  Ritcbings.  “ Your  father  is 
an  excellent  boatman,  isn’t  he  ?” 

“ His  attitude  betokens  security,  at  least.” 

He  was  half  lying,  half  sitting ; his  right  hand  was  on 
the  tiller,  his  left  under  his  head,  his  legs  were  crossed  in 
the  air,  and  his  face  was  half  hid  by  an  old  felt  hat, 
which  was  very  much  crushed. 

“ Isn’t  he  an  original  ?”  Theresa  said,  in  a low  voice, 
to  Mr.  Ritchings. 

“ Hush,”  he  whispered,  with  a laugh,  “ they  are  a 
tribe  of  originals  ; don?t  you  find  them  so  ?” 

“ All  but  Philippa,”  she  answered  mischievously,  look- 
ing into  his  face.  He  turned  very  red,  and  asked  Parke 
where  they  were  going. 


84 


TWO  MEN. 


u Pitt’s  Island,”  suggested  Philippa. 

“ That’s  a good  place,”  said  Jason,  pushing  up  his  hat. 

“ What  is  on  the  island  ?”  Theresa  asked. 

“ Huckleberries  and  wood-ticks,  at  present,”  Jason  re- 
plied . 

“We  shall  have  to  wade  ashore,”  Philippa  cried. 

“Philippa  is  so  sensible,”  Theresa  exclaimed.  “For 
my  part,  I want  to  wade.” 

Jason  put  up  the  helm  for  Pitt’s  Island.  It  would 
take  half  an  hour  to  round  Hawk’s  Point,  behind  which 
the  island  lay,  and  a few  minutes  more  to  reach  shoal 
water,  he  said,  reclining  at  the  tiller  again. 

Parke  and  Theresa  crept  forward,  and  sat  down  on 
the  other  side  of  the  sail ; his  boot-soles  against  the  bal- 
last stones,  and  the  edge  of  her  skirts,  were  all  that  could 
be  seen  of  them  at  the  other  end  of  the  boat.  The  sun 
shone  in  their  happy,  handsome  faces,  and  the  breeze 
blew  : sufficient  was  the  day  for  their  pleasure  thereof. 

“We  shall  return  with  red  noses,”  he  said. 

She  dabbled  her  hands  in  the  water,  and  filliped  some 
in  his  face. 

“ If  you  do  that  again,  while  I am  so  helplessly  lying 
at  your  feet,  supporting  the  weight  of  a cloak  for  your 
sake,  I’ll — throw  it  off.” 

She  looked  at  him  lazily,  and  said,  “What  change- 
able eyes  you  have  !” 

He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  brought  his  face 
close  to  hers. 

“ How  handsome  you  are,  Theresa !” 

“ So  are  you.” 

A pause,  during  which  both  looked  into  the  deep, 
green  sea. 


TWO  MEN. 


85 


His  hand  fell  softly  upon  hers ; their  fingers  locked, 
and  palm  was  pressed  to  palm. 

The  voices  of  the  syrens  rose  from  the  depths  of  the 
sea,  and  a wild,  sweet,  delicious  melody  floated  round 
the  pair. 

“We  hear  nothing  at  the  other  end,”  she  said,  at  last, 
releasing  her  hand. 

“ Do  you  wish  to  hear  ?”  he  asked,  dropping  back  in 
the  folds  of  the  cloak. 

“I  am  not  anxious  about  it.  Mr.  Ritchings  is  happy, 
I suppose  ?” 

“ Why  Mr.  Ritchings  ?” 

“ With  Philippa,  you  know.” 

“Nonsense,”  he  exclaimed  with  energy:  “he  is  noth- 
ing to  her.” 

“ I dare  say ; but  he  is  smitten  to  the  core  with  her.” 

“He!” 

“Now  you  are  going  to  hate  him.  How  selfish  you 
are!  I wish  Philippa  would  flirt,  and  worry  you  to 
death.” 

“ Can’t  you  teach  her  the  art  ?” 

“ Do  I possess  it  ?” 

He  whistled  “ Lively  Polly,”  and  then  closed  his  eyes 
as  if  he  was  sleeping. 

Mr.  Ritchings  engaged  Philippa  in  conversation,  and 
Jason  was  left  to  his  thoughts,  and  steering. 

“I  have  seen  very  little  of  you  of  late,  Miss  Phil- 
ippa.” 

“We  have  missed  you  from  our  house;  that  is  the 
reason,  is  it  not  ?” 

“You  have  been  so  much  occupied!” 

“A  little  more  than  usual.” 

8 


86 


TWO  MEN. 


“But  you  are  always  a good  deal  occupied  since  your 
cousin  came  home.  Do  you  read  together  ?” 

44  Oh  no.” 

“Is  he  not  fond  of  reading?” 

44  Novels.” 

“ You  do  not  like  novels  ?” 

“ No;  nor  fairy  stories,  nor  poetry.” 

44  Not  a literal  novel,  like  4 Jane  Eyre?’” 

“ Literal ! Charlotte  Bronte  cheated  her  readers  in  a 
new  way.  She  threw  a glamour  over  the  burnt  porridge 
even,  at  the  Lowood  school,  and  the  seed-cake  which 
Jane  shared  with  Helen  Burns.  Did  red  and  white  fur- 
niture ever  look  anywhere  else  as  it  did  at  4 Thornfield  ?’ 
Haven’t  we  all  red  and  white  articles  which  have  never 
stirred  us  beyond  the  commonplace  ?” 

“ The  glamour  of  genius.” 

44  Genius  describes  ordinary  life  for  us,  and  then  we 
suffer  in  reality  the  discrepancy  of  its  words.” 

44  But  life  must  be  illustrated.” 

44  It  cannot  be ; the  text  ruins  the  attempt.” 

44  Does  not  passion  illustrate  it  ?” 

44 1 do  not  know.” 

44  Somebody  says  : 4 Nothing  is  so  practical  as  the 
ideal,  which  is  ever  at  hand  to  uphold  and  better  the 
real,’  and  I believe  it.” 

44  Shoal  water,”  cried  Parke  from  the  bow. 

44  We  are  among  the  rocks,  Jason,”  said  Philippa, 
bending  over  the  side. 

44  We  are  on  the  ledge,”  he  answered.  44 1 am  going 
to  put  you  ashore  from  it.  You  can  step  from  rock  to 
rock  along  the  point ; Miss  Bond  shall  wade  ashore,  if 
she  prefers  to.” 


TWO  ME  1ST.  87 

“ ‘ Oh  pilot,  ’tis  a fearful  tiling5  to  have  to  scramble  up 
that  bank  in  front  of  us,”  Parke  remarked. 

“ There’s  a path  somewhere,”  said  J ason. 

“ I see  a little  flag-staff  on  the  summit !”  Theresa  ex- 
claimed. 

“ Down  with  the  red  flag, 

Up  with  the  black,” 

sang  Parke,  assisting  Theresa  out  of  the  boat. 

Jason  tied  the  sails  and  threw  the  anchor  into  the 
sand,  while  the  rest  climbed  the  bank,  and  disappeared 
in  a thicket  which  bordered  it.  Theresa  pulled  the  wild 
shining  smilax,  and  wreathed  it  round  Parke’s  hat  and 
her  own.  They  crossed  a ravine  filled  with  half-sunken 
rocks  and  dense  bushes,  and  came  on  the  face  of  a hill, 
their  destination,  whose  top  was  covered  with  magnifi- 
cent pines.  Philippa  discovered  that  the  provision- 
basket  had  been  forgotten,  and  slipped  into  the  ravine  to 
meet  Jason  and  remind  him  of  it.  He  had  not  seen  it, 
and  both  of  them  went  back  to  the  boat. 

“ You  pushed  through  the  swamp,  did  you  ?”  he  said. 
a I know  a better  course.” 

She  followed  him  into  a dark,  slippery  path,  black 
with  vegetable  mould,  and  choked  with  rocks  which 
were  beautifully  stained  with  red-eyed  moss,  green  vel- 
vet moss,  and  a ruffled,  fringed,  scaly  fungus-growth  of 
wonderful  microscopic  plants,  which  she  carefully  avoid- 
ed, with  the  idea  that  they  must  be  poisonous. 

“ Don’t  you  call  this  a handsome  carpet  ?”  he  asked. 

He  was  answered  with  a scream ; looking  round  and 
taking  the  direction  of  her  eyes,  he  saw  a lazy  snake 
coiled  upon  a rock  she  was  about  to  step  on ; he  seized 


88 


TWO  MEN. 


and  flung  it  far  into  the  bushes.  Rubbing  his  bands  with 
grape-leaves,  he  said  : “ You  are  afraid  of  every  thing.” 

“ Yes,  I am,”  she  answered  meekly.  “ How  could 
you  take  it  up  ?” 

“ Because  it  frightened  you,  and  the  sooner  out  of  the 
way  the  better.  I do  not  believe  you  can  climb  this 
hill.” 

“ Oh  yes.” 

He  caught  her  up,  and  with  a few  strides  was  at  its 
top,  where  he  deposited  her  beside  Theresa,  and  told  her 
the  frightful  adventure  with  a snake. 

“Are  you  not  well,  Philippa?”  asked  Parke. 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Are  you  in  good  spirits  ?” 

“Yes,  as  I always  am.” 

“ I am  awfully  hungry.” 

She  started  up  to  unpack  the  basket,  and  Parke  threw 
himself  beside  Theresa,  who  declared  she  was  in  raptures 
with  life.  The  dazzling,  tremulous  blue  sea  was  round 
her ; over  her  stirred  the  green,  scented,  feathery  sea  of 
the  pines. 

“ ‘ Ringed  with  the  azure  world,’”  said  she,  “we  sit 
upon  this  smooth,  elastic,  red  mat,  commonly  called  pine 
needles.” 

“And  ‘like  a thunderbolt  we’ll  fall’ — on  the  repast 
which  awaits  us  in  the  shadow  of  yon  towering  tree. 
Come,  sylvan  goddess,  the  minister  has  spread  the  cloth, 
and  put  a stone  on  each  corner  of  it  to  keep  it  from  flut- 
tering.” 

“ Roast  chicken,  Miss  Bond,  buttered  bread,  tart, 
cake — which,  or  all  ?”  asked  Mr.  Ritchings. 

“ All.” 


TWO  MEN. 


89 


“ We  have  no  plates,  but  napkins.” 

“I  eat  with  my  fingers,”  said  Theresa. 

Jason  asked  to  be  excused  from  coming  to  the  table, 
on  account  of  the  lowness  of  the  seats  and  his  inability  to^ 
dispose  of  his  legs.  Parke  suggested  the  fork  of  a tree, 
near  by,  not  more  than  fifty  feet  from  the  ground. 

“ There  is  no  plum-cake  here,  Mr.  Ritchings,”  said 
Philippa,  with  a smile  that  warmed  his  spirits. 

“I  am  out  of  office  to-day.” 

“ Oh,  how  nappy  I am,”  sighed  Theresa,  with  her 
mouth  full  of  chicken. 

“ I am  too,”  said  Parke,  taking  a bit  of  tart. 

“Are  the  others  as  happy,  think?”  she  asked. 

“If  they  are  as  hungry.” 

“Animal !” 

Philippa  came  towards  them  with  a glass  of  coffee,  and 
Mr.  Ritchings  followed  with  a paper  of  sugar  and  a 
bottle  of  cream. 

“There  is  one  spoon  only.” 

“ How  delightful !” 

‘There,”  said  Parke,  flinging  a cone  at  Philippa,  “the 
inhabited  world  may  dine  now.” 

A merry  chat  followed.  Jason  offered  cigars;  Philip- 
pa, a little  tired,  reclined  against  a tree,  and  contemplated 
the  white  clouds  which  floated  in  the  aerial  deep,  and 
curled  their  edges  in  relief  against  the  pines.  Theresa 
subsided  into  silence. 

Suddenly  Jason  unlocked  his  tongue.  “ There  is  some 
thing  in  this  scene,  Mr.  Ritchings,  beyond  ethics ; it  con- 
founds and  annihilates  them.” 

A shade  of  annoyance  passed  over  Parke’s  serene  face. 
He  moved  his  cigar  to  the  other  side  of  his  mouth.  Mr. 

8 


90 


TWO  MEN. 


Ritehings  looked  on  the  ground  and  picked  up  a twig, 
but  Theresa’s  subtle  instinct  understood  Jason’s  meaning. 

“ You  are  right,”  she  said. 

+ “ A man  does  not  value  the  Creator  so  much  here ; he 
thinks  of  the  created.  Here  falls  the  crown  of  humanity 
upon  his  head  in  its  circle  of  beauty,  suffering,  and  un- 
certainty. The  speechless  air,  the  deaf  earth,  the  blind- 
ness of  substance — what  do  they  but  render  us  back 
vagueness  for  vagueness?  Why  was  Christ  tempted 
on  a mount?  Not  because  he  could  see  therefrom  the 
kingdoms  of  the  earth.  I read  these  lines  in  one  of  your 
books,  Parke : 

“ 1 To  her  fair  works  did  Nature  link 
The  human  soul  that  through  me  ran.’ 

I think  Christ  was  tempted  with  the  loss  of  faith  in 
his  heroic  mission.” 

u The  old  gent  is  breaking  out  with  a vengeance,”  mur- 
mured Parke,  in  Theresa’s  ear. 

u You  must  read  the  Gospel  with  a good  deal  of  imagi 
nation,”  cried  Mr.  Ritehings.  “ In  what  do  you  believe?” 

“In  what  I feel.” 

He  lighted  a fresh  cigar.  His  mood  changed.  He 
made  quaint  remarks  that  forced  even  Philippa  to  laugh, 
and  Theresa  thought  him  a genius.  Six  o’clock  came, 
and  it  was  time  to  go.  Sweeping  the  napkins  into  the 
basket,  he  strode  out  of  sight  down  the  hill.  Philippa 
and  Mr.  Ritehings  picked  up  the  shawls  and  followed. 
Parke  moved  in  a roundabout  way  from  tree  to  tree,  for 
Theresa  was  not  inclined  to  leave. 

“ The  picnic  opened  a mine  in  my  governor,”  he  said. 


TWO  MEN. 


91 


u I have  been  struck  with  him  from  the  first.  He  is 
a genius.” 

“A  what,  Miss  Bond?” 

44  And  geniuses  never  have  children  like  themselves.” 

64  He  must  be  one,  then.” 

“ Why  do  you  call  me  Miss  Bond  ?” 

“I  call  him  a prime  old  fellow,  any  way,  and  you — 

Theresa .” 

44  Shall  I ever  again  have  so  beautiful  an  hour  as  this, 
Parke?  Let  us  never  go  into  the  world  of  human 
beings  !” 

She  clasped  the  trunk  of  a pine,  and  signed  to  him 
to  go  on. 

u I’ll  stay  here  forever,  if  you  say  so.” 

44  You  would  not.” 

He  was  busy  breaking  off  scales  of  bark,  but  he  raised 
bis  eyes.  There  was  a tide  of  beautiful,  dangerous  dark- 
ness in  them. 

44  They  will  be  waiting  for  us,”  she  added,  drawing  to- 
wards him. 

44  Let  them  wait,”  he  said,  with  his  lips  on  hers. 

44  Kiss  me,  Theresa — again.” 

The  voyage  home  was  a silent  one.  It  was  past  eight 
when  they  reached  the  house,  and  when  they  sat  down, 
by  blazing  lamps,  to  supper,  they  felt  dazed — like  those 
who  come  from  a distant,  different  land,  into  a forgotten 
home. 


92 


TWO  MEN, 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Philippa’s  life,  though  apparently  so  pale  and  cold,  in 
contrast  with  the  blooming  richness  of  Theresa’s,  in- 
creased its  silent  forces.  Theresa’s  regnancy,  instead  of 
subduing  Philippa’s  expectations  and  intentions,  devel- 
oped them.  She  waited  for  a favorable  moment  to  reveal 
them. 

Theresa  determined  to  make  a collection  of  grasses, 
and  for  a number  of  days  went  to  the  fields.  After  the 
grass  came  a passion  for  sea-weeds,  which  also  lasted  a 
number  of  days.  Parke’s  enthusiasm  lasted  through 
both  phases,  as  did  also  Philippa’s  patience.  By  brook, 
thicket,  and  hedge-row,  in  the  shallows  of  the  tide,  among 
the  rocks,  along  the  length  of  the  rough  beach  of  Crest, 
she  pondered  many  things. 

At  last  the  opportunity  came,  as  she  believed,  when 
the  star  of  her  empire  should  take  its  way.  It  was  in- 
troduced by  Mrs.  Rogers,  who  accosted  her  at  the  church 
door,  one  Sunday. 

“ My  Sam,”  she  said,  “ was  spoken  off  the  River  Plate, 
in  April,  with  eight  hundred  barrels  of  sperm  oil.  He’ll 
be  in  this  fall,  sure,  and  he  hasn’t  a white  shirt  to  his 
name.  I must  make  a set,  and  want  to  borrow  a pattern 
of  the  collar  Parke  had  on.  My  mind  would  wander 
from  the  sermon  to-day.  I do  wish  Mr.  Ritchings  would 
be  rather  more  doctrinal ; he  would  get  a more  lively 
attention  from  me , then.” 


TWO  MEN. 


93 


“ Of  coarse  you  shall  have  a pattern.  We  shall  all  he 
delighted  to  have  Sam  at  home.” 

“ When  is  your  Miss  Bond  going  ? Parke  and  she 
are  a handsome  couple.  Are  they  going  to  make  a 
match  ?” 

“No,”  said  Philippa,  sternly. 

“ Beauty  goes  a great  ways,  Philippa,  if  it  is  only  skin 
deep.  Though  it  is  none  of  my  business,  for  all  our 
families  have  been  connected,  as  it  were,  for  many  years, 
my  second  husband  being  one  of  the  Squire’s  best  cap- 
tains, I have  thought  it  would  be  worth  your  while, 
and  Parke’s,  to  keep  the  property  together.  You  are 
not  much  akin.  Sarah  would  die  in  peace  then.” 

The  Yankees  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread ; but 
Philippa  could  not  help  giving  her  motherly  friend  a 
tight  grasp  of  the  hand.  She  made  a careless  reply, 
however,  and  referred  to  Sam  again ; but  Mrs.  Rogers 
understood  her  whole  heart. 

That  evening  Philippa  mentally  arranged  a conversa- 
tion with  Theresa,  and  the  next  morning,  while  she  was 
puttering  with  gum-arabic  and  sea-weed,  took  some  sew- 
ing and  went  to  her  room. 

“ Theresa,  you  have  quite  educated  Parke.” 

“ Will  he  be  grateful,  think  ?” 

“I  hope  not.” 

Theresa  burst  into  a gay  laugh. 

“ Theresa,  I am  going  to  speak  to  you  about  Parke.” 

“Speak  away,  then,”  said  Theresa,  with  a haughty 
motion. 

“ Mrs.  Rogers  asked  me  if  he  and  you  were  going  to 
make  a match.  I said,  4 No.’  ” 

“You  did!”  Theresa  carefully  affixed  the  filaments 


94 


TWO  MEN. 


of  a delicate  spray  on  a sheet  of  paper,  and  continued : 
“ And  why  ?” 

“You  must  not  marry  him.  I speak  my  mind,  be- 
cause I am  willing  for  you  to  understand  my  devotion 
to  him ; it  will  allow  nothing  to  stand  in  its  way.” 

“NTot  even  his  way,  I suppose.” 

Philippa  clinched  her  hands. 

“ What  right,  Philippa,  have  you  to  expect  me  to  be 
more  generous  than  yourself?  You  are  a fool.” 

“ I know  that  I must  appear  so  to  you ; but  neither 
he  nor  you  know  that  I can  do  more  for  him  than  any 
person  in  the  world.  I do  not  mean  in  episodes  of 
grass,  and  sea-weed,  parlor  talks,  and  music,  and  the 
fine  appearance  of  life.  I mean  something  which  your 
capacity  does  not  include — the  care  and  watchfulness  of 
slow  years,  without  reward — the  patience  to  endure  all 
weakness,  indulgence,  selfishness — the  bond  which  be- 
gins with  a white  veil,  and  ends  in  a shroud ! There 
are  states  and  circumstances  which  justify  us  in  the  at- 
tempt we  make  to  take  into  keeping  the  lives  of  men 
like  Parke  Auster.  I would  not,”  and  Philippa  rose  and 
paced  the  room  as  if  she  was  measuring  every  inch  of 
him,  soul  and  body,  “give  in  to  his  own  resistance 
against  me.  I will  compel  him  finally  to  me.” 

“And  for  this,”  said  Theresa,  “you  would  deprive 
him  of  the  passion,  which  is  the  glory,  the  exaltation  of 
life.  Dear  me,  you  are  fit  for  human  nature’s  daily 
food — that’s  all.  You  dream  that  it  lies  with  us  women 
to  govern  the  destinies  of  men.  We  may  indulge  them 
with  episodes,  though,  while  they  treat  us  to  our  des- 
tiny. I told  you  a tragedy  would  come  to  you ; you 
are  making  it  for  yourself.  It  is  possible  that  you  may 


TWO  MEN. 


95 


succeed  in  your  plans, — the  tragedy  wilPbe  no  less;  I 
do  not  think  that  you  will.  No  assimilation  with 
Parke’s  tendencies,  no  dovetailing  with  his  habits,  no 
devotion,  ever  so  absolute,  will  avail  a moment  when 
the  inclination  seizes  him  for  something  different.  Now, 
Philippa,  there  is  one  thing  I will  do — not  another 
which  may  in  any  way  refer  to  him — if  you  say  so,  I 
will  go  home  to-morrow.” 

“No,”  answered  Philippa  gently,  and  kissing  her 
cheek,  “ I wish  you  to  stay.” 


96 


TWO  ME  1ST . 


CHAPTER  XII. 

It  was  the  summer  of  a Presidential  campaign,  an* 
stump  orators  were  going  over  the  country.  The  cele 
brated  Pisgah  Spring,  Member  of  Congress  from  the 
Fourth  District,  was  invited  to  make  a speech  at  Mill- 
ville, the  central  village  in  the  county,  but  so  much 
scattered  itself  that  it  consisted  merely  of4  four  corners, 
on  one  of  which  stood  a large,  dilapidated  meeting- 
house, and  in  which  Pisgah  Spring  was  to  hold  forth, 
J ason  was  chosen  as  delegate  from  Crest,  and  Sarah  pro* 
posed,  as  it  was  moonlight,  that  they  should  all  go  to 
the  meeting. 

“Ritchings  is  going,”  said  Jason,  “with  the  Hall 
family.” 

“ Suppose  you  and  I go  on  horseback,  Theresa  ?”  asked 
Parke. 

“ I’ll  suppose  so,  with  pleasure.” 

“Philippa  will  go  in  the  carriage  with  us,  Sarah, 
then,”  said  Jason.  “We  must  start  at  half-past  six. 
Who  will  make  me  a blue  rosette?  I am  one  of  the 
fools  to  sit  on  the  platform.” 

“All  of  us,”  cried  Theresa.  “Come,  Philippa,  to  a 
shop ; I want  a piece  of  ribbon.” 

It  was  bought,  and  Theresa  decorated  the  whole 
party,  including  the  horses,  with  the  rosettes.  Philippa 
wore  that  night  a white  muslin  dress  and  a white  shawl 
Theresa  called  Parke’s  attention  to  the  effect  of  the  re 


TWO  IEK. 


97 


settes  in  her  hair.  He  remarked,  that  she  always  looked 
well,  except  when  arranged  as  the  American  Sphinx. 

“ She  is  a sphinx,  however.  Why  don’t  you  try  to 
guess  the  riddle  she  propounds  ?” 

“ Is  she  more  mysterious  than  any  other  woman  ?” 

“ Don’t  he  a goose,  Parke,”  said  his  mother. 

“Nothing  erratic  in  Philippa — is  there,  mother?” 

“ I have  n’t  discovered  it.” 

“Prophets  in  their  own  country,  Mrs.  Auster,”  The- 
resa observed  carelessly. 

“ Philippa  does  not  happen  to  be  in  her  own  country,” 
Sarah  replied,  with  a laugh. 

For  once  Parke  caught  and  understood  an  expression 
of  pain  in  Philippa’s  face. 

“ Philippa,”  he  said,  affectionately,  “ my  country  is 
your  country,  isn’t  it?  You  are  as  much  of  a Parke  as 
I am.  Mother,  why  did  you  marry  a foreigner  ?” 

Jason  entered  and  prevented  her  reply.  He  had  been 
putting  in  the  horses  himself,  he  said,  as  Gilbert  was 
obliged  to  take  one  of  the  saddle-horses  to  the  black- 
smith’s to  have  a shoe  fastened. 

“ That  was  my  business,”  said  Parke. 

“ Why  didn’t  you  attend  to  it,  then  ?”  his  father  asked. 

“ Because  it  is  so  much  easier  for  me  to  trouble  others 
than  it  is  to  trouble  myself.  I suppose  I am  very 
selfish.” 

He  looked  so  remorseful  that  two-thirds  of  the  party 
felt  eager  to  deny  this  supposition. 

“How  blue  you  all  are,”  said  Jason,  cheerfully.  “ The- 
resa, where  is  my  badge  ?” 

She  pinned  it  to  his  coat,  smiling  so  pleasantly  upon 
him,  that  he  could  not  help  patting  her  pretty  hand. 

9 


98 


TWO  M E 1ST . 


“You  do  not  need  a badge,”  she  said.  “Your  eyes 
would  answer  for  one ; they  are  bluer  than  this  ribbon, 
and  are  so  much  handsomer.” 

Jason  comically  poked  his  fingers  into  his  eyes,  and 
said  he  never  knew  till  then  that  he  had  eyes. 

“You  are  a deuced  coquette,  Theresa,”  said  Parke, 
wdien  he  adjusted  her  foot  in  the  stirrup. 

The  atmosphere  had  been  a strange  one  all  day.  The 
sky  was  dun-color,  and  the  sun  rolled  through  it — a ball 
of  orange  fire.  A beautiful  blue  haze  ringed  the  horizon 
and  hovered  over  the  bay,  which  had  faded  and  fainted 
in  the  heat,  and  lay  white  and  motionless,  not  stirring 
under  the  pencilled  shadows  which  rayed  its  edge.  For 
a short  distance  the  road  stretched  round  the  shore. 
The  deep  silence  of  the  sea  made  Theresa  feel  silent 
also.  When  Jason  struck  into  a road  which  turned  ab- 
ruptly from  it,  she  drew  a long  breath.  They  entered 
dense  woods,  already  gray  with  dusk,  and  alive  with 
the  mysterious  stir  of  invisible  creatures  who  do  not 
love  the  day,  which  called  out  some  instinct  of  enjoy- 
ment in  her.  The  cool  odors  of  the  ferny  swamps,  and 
of  flowers  yielding  to  the  night,  penetrated  her  with  a 
wild  sense  of  luxury.  But  Parke  was  silent  and  ab- 
sorbed ; he  pushed  along  at  a rapid  pace,  keeping  near 
the  carriage  which  preceded  him.  At  a bend  in  the 
road  Theresa  stopped  her  horse,  while  the  carriage,  and 
Parke  with  it,  wound  out  of  sight. 

“ Oh  night  and  heat,  sound  and  odor,  why  can’t  I 
burst  into  apostrophe!  There  is  something  exquisite 
between  you  and  me : and  why  not  teach  me  what  it  is, 
and  why  it  is — senseless  Powers,  that  overpower  me  !” 

Parke  turned  back  as  soon  as  he  missed  her. 


TWO  MEN. 


99 


“ What  is  the  matter,  Theresa  ?” 

“Nothing;  I stopped  to  get  the  effect  of  those  splen- 
did white  moths  on  Poll’s  mane.” 

“They  hover  round  you , after  the  fashion  of  moths 
out  of  the  woods.” 

“Ah!” 

“ I have  been  thinking  of  Philippa.” 

“Philippa!  ah,  yes.” 

She  whipped  the  leaves  from  the  bushes  near,  with 
her  riding-whip. 

“ What  do  you  think  of  her  sometimes  ?” 

“I  think  of  her  always,  as  a peculiar  girl,  of  noble 
traits.” 

“She  frets  me.  What  does  she  really  enjoy?  Any 
thing  ?” 

“Living  for  you.” 

“ I do  not  deserve  so  much  from  her.  Why  should 
she  be  so  wonderfully  single-minded  ?” 

“ There  is  where  she  is  peculiar.” 

“ What  will  make  her  attend  to  her  own  happiness,  I 
wonder,  instead  of  mine  ?” 

“ I am  sure  I cannot  tell.” 

“ Look  this  way,  Theresa.” 

“ One  way  is  as  good  as  another,  for  it  is  dark.” 

“ Give  me  your  hand,  won’t  you  ?” 

“ How  thick  the  glow-worms  are.” 

“And  the  moths  are  thicker,  too.  Give  me  your 
hand.” 

She  surrendered  it,  and  he  pulled  off  her  glove. 

“ Tell  me  that  I am  not  quite  worthless,  Theresa.” 

“I  do  not  know,”- she  answered,  dreamily,  “whether 
you  can  be  worth  much  to  me.  You  tempt  me,  as  I 


100 


TWO  MEN. 


tempt  you.  Suppose  I tell  you — this  is  just  ttu  i.iOjXLeut 
to  confess  it — that  my  senses  are  all  on  your  side.  Con- 
fessing this,  compare  me  with  Philippa,  whose  soul 
shines  in  a lambent  light,  which  you  could  go  through 
life  by — clear,  pure,  calm  life.  W ould  you  like  it  ?” 

“ The  comparison  does  not  interest  me  much,”  he  said, 
quietly,  holding  up  her  hand,  and  trying  to  slip  on  her 
glove. 

“ Don’t  put  on  my  glove,”  she  said,  petulantly. 

He  offered  it  to  her,  and  she  snatched  it  from  him. 

“ Shall  we  go  on,  Theresa  ?” 

“ Are  you  angry  ?” 

“ Confess  more.” 

“ Can  you — on  your  soul  ?” 

“ Let  us  go  on.”  And  he  laughed  strangely. 

“ Just  so,”  she  answered,  giving  her  horse  a sharp  cut. 

They  overtook  the  carriage  as  it  entered  the  town,  or 
rather  as  it  reached  the  meeting-house,  about  which  a 
crowd  was  gathered.  It  was  decorated  with  pine 
boughs,  mottoes  in  ground-pine  and  tissue-paper,  and 
dimly  lighted  with  candles,  lamps,  and  torches.  An 
active  committee  had  knocked  out  the  windows  and  a 
part  of  the  end  wally  where  a platform  was  raised  for 
the  accommodation  of  Pisgah  Spring  and  the  delegates. 
The  body  of  the  house  was  nearly  filled  with  ladies.  A 
polite  usher,  however,  found  a front  seat  for  Sarah. 
Theresa  and  Philippa  went  to  a pew  under  the  gallery, 
near  one  end  of  the  platform,  and  Parke  stood  among 
the  men  by  the  doors. 

When  Pisgah  Spring  came  forward  he  was  immensely 
cheered,  especially  by  the  galleries.  Theresa  happened 
to  be  looking  at  Jason,  who  was  on  the  platform  near 


TWO  MEN. 


101 


them,  and  remarked  that  he  was  scrutinizing  the  sup- 
ports of  the  gallery  in  their  vicinity.  She  forgot  him  in 
a moment,  however,  and  was  attracted  by  the  change  in 
the  evening  sky  and  the  rising  of  the  moon,  which  she 
saw  through  the  opening  in  the  wall. 

At  a burst  of  applause  for  a display  of  eloquence  an 
ominous  creak  was  heard.  A pillar  gave  way.  The 
beams  above  Philippa  and  Theresa  snapped,  and  a rush 
was  made  to  get  out  of  the  gallery ; the  house  was  filled 
with  cries — the  audience  struggled  with  each  other  to 
get  out.  The  girls  clasped  hands ; they  could  not  move, 
the  pressure  was  so  strong  against  them,  by  those  who 
were  endeavoring  to  get  out  through  the  opening  in  the 
wall  behind  the  platform. 

Jason  leaped  from  it  with  an  oath,  and  fought  his 
way  to  the  corner  where  they  were.  With  a blow  he 
demolished  a sash,  and  thrust  them  through  it.  They 
had  scarcely  touched  the  ground  before  Parke  and  his 
mother  were  there.  Theresa  trembled  and  wept,  and 
Philippa,  who  had  dropped  on  the  ground,  quietly 
fainted.  Jason  took  her  up  in  his  arms  and  pushed  out 
of  the  crowd,  telling  Parke  to  be  quick  with  some  water. 
Theresa  saw  him  put  his  hand  on  her  forehead,  and  then 
clasp  her  close  to  him,  throwing  back  his  head,  as  if  he 
were  making  a mad  appeal  for  help. 

“ She  won’t  die  with  the  fright,  will  she  ?”  she  asked 
Sarah. 

“ She  will  come  to  presently,”  Sarah  answered,  taking 
from  Parke  the  cup  of  water  he  had  found  and  dashing 
it  in  her  face.  “ Put  her  on  her  feet,  Jason.” 

“ What  did  you  say,  Sarah  ? Who  is  hurt  ?”  she  asked, 
struggling  to  stand. 

9* 


102 


TWO  MEN". 


“ There  is  more  dust  than  wounds,”  Parke  replied; 
“ two  or  three  are  hurt,  however.  The  meeting  is  over, 
of  course.  I’ll  bring  up  the  horses.” 

“ How  are  you  ?”  called  Mr.  Ritchings,  passing  in  his 
carriage.  “ My  coat  is  torn.  Are  you  frightened  ? Did 
Miss  Philippa  faint  ? Did  she,  indeed  ? But  she  has  re- 
covered, I see.  1 shall  come  over  in  the  morning  to  your 
house.” 

“ All  right,  Mr.  Ritchings,”  Parke  bawled.  “ Come, 
Theresa,  are  you  recovered  enough  to  ride  home  on 
horseback,  or  shall  I put  you  in  the  carriage  ?” 

“ We  will  go  as  we  came,  if  you  please.” 

They  started  in  advance,  for  Jason  was  detained  a 
few  moments.  Meantime  the  crowd  dispersed ; the 
lights  were  put  out  in  the  church,  and  the  four  corners 
deserted.  Night  reigned  with  her  ancient  silence ; the 
dew  fell  afresh,  the  crickets  came  afield,  the  silver  spears 
of  moonlight  gleamed  everywhere,  and  the  stars  marched 
against  the  dawn. 

“Sit  on  the  front  seat,  Philippa,”  said  Sarah,  when 
Jason  came  up.  “I  want  all  the  back  seat  to  take  a 
nap  on.” 

He  rolled  up  his  coat  for  a pillow  and  put  it  against 
her  head ; yawning  a few  times,  and  complaining  of  be- 
ing chilly,  she  soon  appeared  to  be  sound  asleep.  The 
silence  was  only  broken  by  Jason  speaking  to  his  horses, 
which  were  restive.  Philippa  could  not  shake  from 
her  mind  the  picture  of  Theresa’s  crying  on  Parke’s 
shoulder ; she  was  very  weary,  however,  and  when  the 
horses  subsided  into  a monotonous  trot,  her  head  droop- 
ed as  if  she  was  falling  asleep  also.  Jason  loosened  his 
hold  on  the  reins  and  turned  to  look  at  her ; the  shawl 


TWO  MEN. 


103 


had  fallen  from  her  shoulders ; he  drew  it  up,  and,  to 
his  surprise,  she  laid  her  head  against  his  breast,  re- 
maining there  so  motionless  that  he  thought  her  sleep- 
ing* Better  for  him  to  think  so  then,  if  one  may  dare 
say  that  there  are  moments  when  a man’s  soul  is  right- 
fully his  own,  in  its  supreme  and  sublime  selfishness. 
In  fruth,  Philippa’s  feelings  in  regard  to  Parke  were  so 
plain  to  herself,  that  she  believed  Jason — her  fellow- 
alien,  the  only  unobtrusive,  kindly  being  she  had  ever 
known — sympathized  with  her,  and  understood  them. 
As  for  him,  his  heart  stopped  beating,  then  bounded  for- 
ward, and  dragged  every  nerve  into  the  terrible  devel- 
opment which  made  him  a man.  One  by  one  his  savage 
instincts  were  revealed  to  him;  he  knew  that  he  was  a 
natural,  free,  powerful  creature.  What  then  compelled 
this  monarch  to  still  drive  his  horses  carefully,  which 
were  conveying  his  wife  and  ward  home  ? Will  any  one 
man  or  woman,  who  has  noticed  his  or  her  own  auto- 
biography, answer?  May  the  saints  forgive  Jason  for 
ever  afterwards  retaining  the  sweet  ability  which  this 
night  brought  him  ! Ever  afterwards  the  summer  sky 
and  summer  earth,  “ moving  eastward,”  shared  with 
him  the  secret — a right  between  them,  which  no  power 
could  annihilate,  for  it  was  not  a guilty  fact,  but  an  un- 
dying truth. 

At  last  he  gave  utterance  to  some  peculiar  note  which 
the  horses  understood,  and  they  flew  home  at  a thunder- 
ing speed. 

Jason  hung  about  the  stables  till  Gilbert  locked  the 
doors  and  went  away.  He  then  made  the  circuit  of  the 
house,  and  saw  only  a light  in  his  own  room.  He  pic- 
tured Sarah  winding  her  watch,  putting  her  numerous 


104 


TWO  MEN. 


ornaments  in  their  boxes,  and  pinning  her  curls.  A sud- 
den desire  seized  him  to  go  to  her,  and  give  her  a chance 
to  understand  him.  In  a moment  he  was  in  the  cham- 
ber, and  seated  near  her — to  surprise  her  by  seeming 
interested  in  her  toilet.  She  felt  so  constrained  by  his 
observation  that  she  turned  from  the  glass,  and  asked 
him  what  ailed  him.  His  eyes  wore  so  eager,  thirsting, 
searching  an  expression,  that  had  she  been  any  thing  but 
the  plain,  honest  woman  she  was,  she  would  have  felt 
disturbed. 

“ You  have  taken  cold,  Jason;  you  look  feverish.” 

“ Let  us  talk,”  he  said. 

“ Do  you  know  that  it  is  past  one  ?” 

“ Let  the  clock  go.  Did  you  notice  Theresa  in  the 
alarm  to-night?” — removing  from  the  subject  he  in- 
tended to  introduce. 

“ No.  What  do  you  mean?”  She  tied  her  cap  with 
more  resignation  to  the  “talk,”  and  sat  down  on  the  side 
of  the  bed. 

“ She  flew  to  Parke,  and  cried,  with  her  head  on  his 
shoulder” — Jason  shivered — “as  if  it  wa^ the  place  for 
her.” 

“No  doubt  she  thinks  so.  Most  girls  would.” 

“ Being  his  mother,  you  flatter  him.” 

“Fiddle-stick!  He  is  rich  and  handsome,  and  The- 
resa is  a sharp,  worldly-minded  girl.” 

“Why  did  we  marry,  Sarah?  I was  neither  hand- 
some nor  rich — only  a stupid,  green  boy,  just  as  I have 
been — a stupid,  ignorant  man.” 

“ It  proves,  don’t  it,  that  I was  not  sharp,  nor  worldly- 
minded  ?”  And  she  gave  one  of  her  abrupt,  shrill  laughs. 

“ Did  you  notice  me  with  Philippa  to-night  ?” 


TWO  MEN. 


105 


“ Philippa!  I have  had  enough  of  Philippa!  She 
didn’t  fall  on  anybody’s  breast,  did  she  ? She  fell  on 
the  ground — a better  place  for  her — and  you  picked  her 
up.  Why  didn’t  you  let  her  lie  there  ? But  you  pride 
yourself  on  your  justice.” 

Jason  was  astonished.  He  saw  that  Sarah  hated  Phil- 
ippa. If  he  should  confess  to  his  wife  that  through  Phil- 
ippa he  had  become  a different  man,  what  would  be  the 
result  ? A more  cruel  hatred.  He  was  dismayed  at  the 
danger  he  had  been  ready  to  thrust  her  into,  for  it  would 
be  impossible  for  Sarah  to  make  fine  distinctions ; so 
if  there  was  any  thing  now  existing  in  him  which  was 
damaging  to  his  conjugal  honor,  he  could  not  make  ex- 
piation by  its  revelation  to  Sarah. 

“She  must  needs  faint,”  added  Sarah,  passing  her 
hand  over  her  face,  as  if  to  smooth  out  the  evil  expres- 
sion there.  “ She  has  a Southern  constitution.  Those 
Southern  women  are  incapable,  helpless  babies.” 

“ Sarah,”  and  Jason  stood  up  resolutely,  “have  I ever 
loved  you  ?” 

“ I really  do  not  know,  Jason,”  she  answered,  as  reso- 
lutely ; “ and,  if  you  will  force  me  to  say  it,  I do  not 
suffer  to  know.” 

“ Thank  you.”  And  the  conversation  was  ended. 

As  thankful  as  Jason  was,  he  could  not  sleep.  He 
was  busy  cutting  down  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  which 
had  suddenly  grown  up  before  him.  Practically  he  de- 
molished its  leaves,  blossoms,  and  fruit.  This  was  his 
expiation. 


106 


TWO  MEN 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

As  the  time  for  Theresa’s  departure  drew  near,  she 
felt  impatient  to  be  gone.  Separation  was  the  test  she 
thought  best  to  apply  to  the  relation  between  herself 
and  Parke.  Had  she  been  sure  of  his  feelings,  she  could 
have  explained  her  own ; but  there  was  such  a mixture 
of  impetuosity  and  coolness,  so  much  abandon  at  one 
moment,  so  much  hard  reserve  at  another,  in  his  manner 
towards  her — such  moods  of  clinging,  appealing  tender- 
ness, and  of  trying,  imperious  demands,  that  her  self- 
possession  was  completely  overthrown.  Away  from  the 
magnetism  of  his  presence,  she  expected  to  be  able  to 
analyze  the  influence  which  each  had  over  the  other. 
She  deliberated  whether  she  would  renew  the  subject  of 
Philippa’s  former  discourse  regarding  him,  and  so  make 
common  cause  with  her ; but  an  undefinable  belief  that, 
after  all,  Philippa  had  not  proved  herself  the  fool  which 
Theresa  had  called  her,  in  her  estimation  of  the  position 
she  would  claim  and  assume  with  him,  prevented.  It 
was  possible  that  his  temperament  could  be  run  down 
by  the  slow,  concealed,  indefatigable  pursuit  of  a tem- 
perament like  Philippa’s. 

“Well,  Philippa,  I shall  soon  be  gone,”  she  said. 
“ What  shall  you  do  without  me  ?” 

“ Subside.” 

“ You  are  a fatalist,  Philippa.” 

“Human  life  goes  on  with  and  without  precept  and 


TWO  MEN. 


107 


example,  failure  or  success.  We  have  some  sustaining 
principle  which  is  independent  of  circumstances.  Is 
that  fatality  ?” 

“ The  industrious  apprentice  does  not  always  come  to 
be  Lord  Mayor,  nor  does  the  idle  apprentice  always  come 
to  the  gallows.” 

“I  shall  miss  you,  Theresa.  The  whole  of  Crest,  out- 
side and  in,  is  not  so  lively  and  brilliant  as  you  are.” 

“ Thanks ; I am  pyrotechnical,  I know.  Look  about 
you,  after  I am  gone,  for  rocket-sticks,  exploded  crack- 
ers, and  black  wadding.” 

“ I owe  you  something.” 

“ Pay  me.” 

u You  have  taught  me  the  value  of  patience,  and  you 
have  helped  me  to  understand  how  useless  it  is  for  me 
to  attempt  to  imitate  you,  in  having  any  positive 
pursuits.  I am  not  like  other  girls,  and  I shall  not  try 
to  be.  If  you  had  not  been  here,  I should  have  been 
for  some  time  to  come  tormented  with  a feeling  that  I 
ought  to  study,  to  read,  to  feel  passions,  have  tastes. 
By  what  you  are,  I have  seen  what  I am  not? 

“ By  patience — what  do  you  mean  ?” 

u That  I have  had  an  awful  trial  with  you,  andYhat  I 
have  borne  it.” 

“ Do  write  your  biography : c Philippa,  A Late  Chris- 
tian Martyr.’” 

u Not  a martyr.” 

u Your  conceit  surpasses  any  thing  I ever  saw.” 

When  Theresa’s  bonnet  was  tied,  and  she  was  on  the 
point  of  leaving  the  house,  Sarah  said : “ You  are  coming 
again  ?” 

“ Of  course  she  is,”  Parke  interposed. 


108 


TWO  MEN. 


“ Will  you  invite  me,  Mrs.  Auster  ?”  Theresa  asked. 

“If  any  thing  depended  on  my  invitation,”  she  an- 
swered, “ it  would  be  worth  while  to  ask  me  for  one.” 

“ Oh,  mother,  you  are  too  modest ; ask  her  to  come 
and  live  with  us.” 

Theresa’s  color  rose.  Sarah  tossed  the  row  of  curls 
along  her  forehead  as  if  they  had  been  little  bells,  but 
her  face  kept  a neutral  expression;  but  the  invitation 
was  cordially  given. 

“ Good-by,  Miss  Theresa,”  said  Jason,  with  the  feel- 
ing that  he  was  shaking  hands  with  an  episode.  He 
walked  beside  her  to  the  gate.  She  broke  a spray  of 
flowers  from  a bush  which  bordered  the  walk. 

“ These  betoken  autumn,”  she  said ; “ are  you  super- 
stitious, Mr.  Auster  ?” 

“Not  in  the  least.” 

“ There  is  not  a flower  here  whose  emblem  is  Remem - 
trance .” 

“ Glad  of  it.” 

“ Why,  how  ungallant  you  are  at  the  last  moment ! 
Come,  I am  treasuring  the  last  words  of  you  all.  Can 
you  give  me  no  better  ?” 

Philippa  was  depositing  Theresa’s  shawl  and  basket 
on  the  seat  of  the  carriage ; his  eyes  rested  upon  her. 

“ As  if  we  needed  emblems,”  he  said. 

“They  are  foolish,”  she  answered,  following  the  di- 
rection of  his  glance  ; “ but  then  there  are  fools.  Keep 
this  flower,  will  you  ? not  for  remembrance.” 

The  tone  of  her  voice  startled  him ; he  looked  at  her 
so  sharply  that  she  turned  crimson. 

“ Give  it  to  me,  then,”  he  said.  “Is  there  any  thing 
else  you  could  give  me  ?” 


TWO  M E 1ST . 


109 


“ Nothing.” 

When  the  carriage  went  on,  he  stuffed  the  flower  in 
his  vest  pocket,  and  passed  out  at  the  gate. 

Elsa  thought  that  the  house  ’was  like  a funeral  the 
whole  day,  and  recommended  a course  of  company  year 
in  and  year  out.  She  reckoned  the  family  improved  "by 
being  distracted  from  itself.  As  for  Mr.  Auster,  she  had 
seen  him  something  like  folks  for  several  times  since 
Miss  Bond  came. 

Philippa  rearranged  Theresa’s  chamber,  and  made  a 
retrospect  of  her  visit.  Her  looks  and  ways  were  so 
vividly  remembered,  that  Philij)pa  felt  able  to  assume 
her  identity ; but  these  recollections  did  not  cause  any 
change  in  a resolve  to  act  without  reference  to  her  re- 
lation with  Parke. 

When  Parke  returned  from  the  station,  he  carried  out 
a purpose,  long  postponed,  of  breaking  a filly  in  harness. 
When  he  was  tired  of  the  effort,  he  sought  Philippa, 
and  kept  her  with  him  the  whole  afternoon,  looking 
over  his  stock  of  music,  and  singing  the  familiar  songs. 
The  old  life  had  begun  again, 

10 


110 


TWO  MEN. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

Some  caprice  determining  Sarah  to  refurnish  the  house, 
she  asked  Parke  to  accompany  her  on  a journey.  She 
desired  him  to  recollect  how  many  years  the  furniture 
had  lasted,  and  hoped  that  what  she  intended  to  buy 
would  last  as  long.  They  were  absent  a week.  Before 
their  return,  there  were  two  arrivals  in  Crest,  which 
excited  some  interest  — that  of  the  bark  Unicorn , 
whaler,  of  which  Sam  Rogers  was  mate,  and  the 
schooner  Emily , which  brought  as  passengers  a family 
from  the  South,  consisting  of  a mother  and  two 
daughters,  named  Lang.  The  captain’s  story  concern- 
ing them  was  meagre  in  its  details,  but  the  gossips  of 
Crest  were  obliged  to  content  themselves  with  it,  as 
nothing  more  could  be  obtained.  Tie  said  that  Mrs. 
Lang’s  passage  was  engaged,  when  he  was  in  port  at 
Savannah,  by  an  elderly  planter  from  the  interior,  who 
made  inquiries  respecting  the  eligibility  of  the  small 
towns  on  the  coast  of  New  England  as  a place  of  resi- 
dence, and  decided  upon  Crest.  What  relation  he  was 
to  his  passengers,  the  captain  did  not  discover;  but  he 
guessed  he  was  a wise  old  cove  to  send  them  to  the 
North. 

The  glitter  of  negro  blood  was  in  Mrs.  Lang’s  eyes, 
and  the  negro  modulation  in  her  voice  ; her  complexion 
was  a deep  yellow,  and  she  wore  a wig  of  dark,  straight 
hair.  Though  past  middle  age,  her  carriage  was  still 


TWO  MEN'. 


Ill 


splendid.  She  had  been  a lithe,  sinewy,  gay  savage, 
but  her  day  was  over ; a double  expression  was  domi- 
nant in  her  face  now — of  weariness,  from  some  long- 
continued  strain,  and  of  repose,  because  of  safety  at- 
tained. Her  manners  reflected  the  hut,  the  boudoir, 
and  the  Methodist  gatherings  of  plantation  slaves.  • 
Her  daughters,  Clarice  and  Charlotte,  sixteen  and 
eighteen  years  of  age,  were  handsome.  Clarice  had  a 
brilliant  swarthy  complexion,  shining,  curly,  black  hair, 
large  black  eyes,  with  a vindictive  sparkle,  and  manners 
which  were  a mixture  of  the  sulky  and  the  vivacious. 
Charlotte  reminded  one  of  the  Calla  Ethiopia,  she  was 
so  tall,  slender,  bending,  and  graceful,  her  complexion 
so  smooth  and  opaque,  and  the  curves  of  her  face  so 
beautiful.  Her  lips  were  always  parted,  her  wistful 
light-blue  eyes  v/idely  opened,  and  her  straight,  silky, 
chestnut  hair  disordered.  She  impressed  those  who  saw 
her  with  a pitying  admiration,  a wondering  regret,  and 
a mysterious  doubt.  Mrs.  Lang  hired  a cottage  on  the 
outskirts  of  Crest,  in  a little  by-street,  which  Jason  had 
cut  and  graded,  intending  to  build  a row,  but  never  had, 
and  set  up  housekeeping,  without  hiring  assistance,  or 
introducing  herself  to  her  remote  neighbors.  Some, 
calling  her  “nigger,”  wondered  if  she  expected  that 
anybody  would  associate  with  her  and  her  daughters , 
if  she  did,  she  would  find  herself  mistaken,  and  kept  in 
a repellant  attitude,  in  case  she  should  make  an  advance ; 
then  relaxed  that  indignant  pride,  and  began  to  suffer 
from  a lively  curiosity  regarding  the  habits  of  the 
family,  and,  finally,  made  an  attempt  at  acquaintance, 
which  was  met  with  the  coldest  response.  Others  heard 
of  the  arrival  of  the  Langs  with  the  same  indifference 


112 


TWO  MEN. 


that  they  heard  of  the  arrival  of  a circus,  or  a lecturer 
on  the  lost  arts  or  poetry  ; among  these  was  Sarah,  who, 
when  Elsa  told  her  the  news,  on  the  night  of  her  return, 
was  too  much  engrossed  in  her  new  purchases  to  pay 
much  attention  to  it. 

“ I walked  up  that  way,  while  you  were  gone,”  said 
Elsa,  “ and  1 saw  Mrs.  Lang ; she  wears  a wig,  because 
she  is  ashamed  of  her  woolly  hair.” 

“ Oh,  Elsa,”  said  Philippa,  “ do  you  wonder  that  a 
woman  with  white  blood  in  her  veins  should  try  to  hide 
the  black?” 

“ A nigger  is  a nigger,  and  the  Lord  means  to  keep 
him  so.  I have  no  patience  with  the  race ; and  it  seems 
as  if  He  hadn’t,  sometimes,  by  the  way  things  go  on 
here  and  in  Africa.” 

“ Mother,”  asked  Parke,  “ didn’t  you  buy  something 
for  Elsa  ?” 

“ Yes,  a new  front;  what  the  shopkeepers  called  a 
6 ventilated  front.’  You  needed  one  badly,  Elsa.” 

“ Goodness  !”  she  exclaimed,  putting  up  her  hand  to  a 
rusty  false  band  of  hair  that  wouldn’t  stay  on  her  fore- 
head, “ did  you  think  of  me,  Sarah  ?” 

“Poor  Mrs.  Lang!”  said  Parke,  comically. 

“ Now,  Parke,  you  need  not  twit  me;  but  I must  say 
that  youngest  daughter  of  Mrs.  Lang,  who  came  here  to 
see  Mr.  Auster  about  the  house  they  have  hired  of  him,  is 
the  most  lovely  creature  I ever  laid  my  eyes  on.  She 
beats  Theresa  Bond  out  and  out.” 

% “Does  she?”  Parke  asked,  with  an  air  of  interest 

“ She  is  to  be  pitied,  then.” 

“ Look  at  the  shells  Sam  Rogers  brought  me.”  And 
Philippa  brought  out  a box  for  Parke  to  inspect.  He 


TWO  MEN. 


113 


regretted  that  he  had  not  known  of  the  gift,  so  that  he 
might  have  brought  a little  cabinet  to  place  them  in, 
and  said  he  must  visit  Sam  that  night. 

“Til  make  you  one,”  said  Jason,  who  had  not  said  a 
word  of  the  Langs,  though  he  knew  more  of  them  than 
Elsa  did,  for  he  had  seen  them  several  times  in  reference 
to  rent  and  repairs. 

“Jason,  I believe  you  have  a longing  to  follow  your 
old  trade,”  said  Sarah. 

“ It  amuses  me  to  play  with  edged  tools,”  he  answered. 

“ The  kings  somewhere,”  said  Parke,  “ learn  trades,  so 
that  if  their  kingdoms  upset,  or  they  are  compelled  to 
abdicate,  they  can  earn  their  living.  Who  was  it  made 
baskets  ?” 

“ That  is  the  case  with  me,”  remarked  Jason,  “ all  but 
the  kingdom.” 

“ This  is  the  first  time,  Parke,”  Elsa  observed,  “ that 
I have  had  a specimen  of  your  college  learning.  I con- 
clude you  got  that  story  there.” 

“ Put  on  your  false  front,  Elsa,  and  don’t  be  trouble- 
some.” 

“ Theresa  Bond  should  have  stayed  longer,  to  see  our 
new  things,”  she  continued. 

“ She  will  have  the  chance  any  time  to  enjoy  my 
choice,”  Sarah  answered.  “ I do  not  wish  to  have  the 
house  renovated  for  fifty  years.  Whoever  will  disturb 
it,  disturbs  me,  dead,  or  alive.” 

Elsa  reflected  upon  this  remark  afterwards,  and  did 
not  wonder  at  Jason’s  saying  “all  bu£  the  kingdom,” 
Nobody  had  ever  succeeded  in  standing  against  Sarah, 
except  Osmond  Luce.  Jason,  Philippa,  and  Parke  were 
under  her  sway.  If  a struggle  should  ever  come  be- 
10* 


• 114 


TWO  MEN. 


tween  her  and  Parke,  he  would  either  give  up  and  die, 
or  she  would  harry  him  to  death. 

Parke  made  himself  quite  irritable  during  the  renova- 
tion; that  is,  he  contradicted  her  once  or  twice,  and 
looked  annoyed  because  Philippa  showed  so  much  indif- 
ference about  any  change  in  her  own  room.  One  day 
he  brought  a letter  from  Theresa  for  her  to  read,  which 
contained  some  suggestions  he  had  asked  for,  concerning 
her  taste. 

“ I do  not  want  to  read  it,”  she  said. 

u Why  not?” 

“ Theresa  writes  me,  you  know.” 

u So  I supposed;  but  she  does  not  answer  my  questions 
in  your  letters,  does  she  ?” 

“ She  might  as  well,  though.” 

“ To  save  postage  ?” 

Something  wild  flew  into  her  eyes,  which  he  saw. 
All  the  sallow  tints  in  her  face  disappeared  like  magic, 
and  a line  of  fire  ran  into  her  lips. 

“ What  is  it  ?”  he  asked.  “ You  mean  to  convince  me 
that  she  cannot  manage  me  alone  ? Why  must  I have 
so  much  done  for  me,  Philippa  ?” 

If  she  had  possessed  the  least  subtlety  of  feeling  at  that 
moment,  she  would  have  given  up  the  contest  she  waged; 
but  she  only  thought  of  what  she  was  herself,  and  how 
he  should  know  it. 

“ Theresa  has  talked  with  you,  of  course,  about  me  ?” 
he  asked  again. 

“ I talked  with  her.” 

“ Where  is  the  distinction  ?” 

“ Parke,  you  do  not  understand  yourself.” 

“ Nor  you.  I thought  you  liked  Theresa.  Do  you 


TWO  ME  1ST, 


115 


want  me  to  break  with  her  ? I have  only  not  to  answer 
her  letter.” 

“ I do  like  her.” 

“ Come,  let  us  go  and  ride.  The  afternoon  is  fine.” 

“ Shall  you  answer  the  letter  ?” 

“ I’ll  take  the  ride  first.” 

The  horses  were  at  the  gate  in  a few  minutes,  and 
Parke  turned  them  in  the  direction  of  one  of  the  necks 
of  the  bay.  Philippa  was  foolish  enough  to  feel  happy 
again.  There  could  not  come  a time,  she  believed,  when 
her  life  with  Parke  would  cease.  It  would  not  be  in  the 
nature  of  any  circumstance  that  could  happen  to  him 
that  she  would  not,  in  some  way,  be  involved  in  it,  and 
influential  with  it.  As  for  him,  there  was  something  in 
the  atmosphere  that  made  his  spirits  rise — something 
more  with  every  mile  that  made  them  equable,  fair,  and 
full.  The  vast  white  clouds  that  moved  in  the  blue  sky, 
and  let  fall  darting  shadows  over  the  still  and  solitary 
landscape — the  mild  sea-wind,  rustling  the  faded  corn- 
leaves  on  their  dry  stalks — the  grasshoppers,  singing 
their  last  songs  in  the  warm  turf- — the  purple  and  yellow 
flowers  and  red  grass  in  the  ditch — the  low,  level  fields, 
dipping  to  the  shore,  beyond  which  he  caught  glimpses 
of  the  sea — the  tranquil  twilight  of  an  old  pine  woods, 
whose  needles  filled  up  the  sandy  ruts,  whose  tops  of 
vital  green  covered  a gray  skeleton  army  of  trunks — the 
maples,  whose  leaves  are  the  couriers  of  the  frost — the 
flickering  birches,  dropping  pale-yellow  leaves — the  tri- 
edged,  shining  grass  of  the  salt-marshes — the  whir  of 
the  brown  birds — the  umber-colored  brooks,  with  their 
borders  of  cool  sand — one  and  all  belonged  to  the  pleas- 
ant condition  of  his  mind. 


116 


TWO  MEN. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

Parke  was,  and  always  had  been,  intimate  with  Sam 
Rogers,  and  until  the  house  was  in  order  Sam  stayed  at 
home  and  received  visits  from  him,  and  saw  hut  little 
of  Philippa. 

The  Squire’s  mahogany  sideboard,  his  spider-legged 
tables,  looking-glasses  in  carved  frames,  chests  of  draw- 
ers, and  high-post  bedsteads,  were  removed  to  the  gar- 
ret, and  left  to  cobwebs.  The  dingy  carpets,  and  straw- 
bottomed  chairs,  and  sofas  invented  by  Torquemada,  or 
some  other  inquisitor,  were  removed,  and  gay  French 
furniture  took  their  places.  Crimson  and  green — drab 
and  blue  prevailed.  The  sombre,  quaint  character  of 
the  old  regime  vanished ; its  irregular  air  of  comfort 
faded  in  the  new  splendor.  Some  fine  old  curtains  of 
damask  and  Indian  chintz  were  pulled  down,  and  a 
wretched  combination  of  brocatelle  and  embroidered 
lace  was  put  in  their  place.  The  house,  in  short,  was 
more  changed  in  Sarah’s  hands  than  it  had  been  in 
Jason’s.  Philippa  successfully  combated  the  assault 
upon  her  apartment — one  of  the  largest  in  the  house. 
There  was  but  one  alteration : the  old-fashioned  white 
dimity  coverings  and  curtains  were  taken  away,  and 
pale-green  chintz  dotted  with  rose-buds  substituted. 
She  regretted  the  ancient  white  fringes — the  dancing 
dolls  of  her  childish  imagination.  The  chintz,  however, 
gave  the  room  a cheerful  look,  which  it  had  never  worn 


TWO  MEN. 


117 


before.  She  covered  the  elephantine  sofa  and  the  im- 
mense tester  over  her  bed  with  it,  and  the  oak  chairs 
with  high  backs.  There  were  no  pictures  on  the  walls, 
and  no  books,  except  a little  pile  of  volumes  bound  in 
leather,  and  marked  “Osmond  Luce.’5  Nothing,  in  her 
estimation,  could  be  more  pleasant  than  this  room ; its 
plainness  and  freedom  from  small  rubbish  were  excel- 
lences. She  pictured  Theresa  in  her  own  room  at  home 
— as  she  had  described  it — a museum  of  grasses,  “im- 
mortelles,” weeds,  plants,  engravings,  coins,  and  china, 
and  wondered  how  she  should  enjoy  herself  in  the  Bond 
family,  for  Theresa  had  urged  her  to  spend  the  winter 
with  her. 

One  day,  when  she  was  perched  on  the  large  sofa,  she 
heard  Jason  calling  her;  he  opened  the  door  as  she  an- 
swered, with  the  shell  cabinet  in  his  hand.  Seeing  her 
on  the  chintz  sofa,  he  thought  of  a humming-bird. 

“ H<  re,  missy,  is  the  thing  for  your  shells.” 

She  sprang  up  with  thanks,  the  warmer  for  having 
forgotten  all  about  it,  and  asked  him  where  she  should 
put  it.  He  made  a tour  of  the  walls,  setting  the  cabinet 
in  different  places  to  try  its  effect,  and  finally  concluded 
to  fasten  it  over  the  mantel.  Before  he  had  finished 
nailing  it,  Sarah  put  her  head  in  at  the  door,  and  looked 
round  with  a critical  eye. 

“ I heard  a pounding,”  she  said.  “ What ! have  you 
only  finished  that  thing  just  now?” 

“ Yes ; is  this  the  place  for  it  ?” 

“ I think  so.  How  you  have  puckered  the  top  of  the 
sofa-cover,  Philippa !” 

“ It  suits  me  very  well,”  Philippa  answered ; “ as  well 
as  any  thing  can  in  the  place  of  the  fringed  dimity.” 


118 


TWO  MEN. 


“ I can  remember  when  grandmother  sewed  the  fringe 
on.  She  worked  hard  always,  but  I believe  she  was 
never  as  tired  as  I am.” 

“Are  you  tired?”  asked  Jason. 

“ Yes ; should  you  not  suppose  so  ?” 

“ I wish  you  to  do  nothing.” 

“ Things  would  come  to  a pretty  pass,  wouldn’t  they 
— especially  with  Philippa  perched  on  her  great-grand- 
father’s sofa  ?” 

“ It  is  mine  now,  and  I am  glad  my  great-grandfather 
is  dead.” 

“ Speaking  of  your  grandfather,  Sarah,”  broke  in  Ja- 
son, “ when  do  you  expect  to  be  done  with  your  fur- 
nishing ?” 

“ Soon ; and  when  it  is  once  done,  it  is  done  forever 
with  me.” 

“Well,  I wish  we  could  have  some  apple-fritters  for 
supper.” 

She  laughed,  and  vanished. 

“Forever,”  repeated  Philippa,  running  her  finger 
along  a line  of  calico  rose-buds.  “Forever  is  a long 
word.” 

“ But,”  said  Jason,  raising  his  hammer  as  if  about  to 
strike  the  word,  “there  are  such  words,  even  in  this 
world — the  same  as  in  Eternity.” 

She  looked  at  him  with  surprise,  for  there  was  some- 
thing pathetic  in  his  voice. 

“Yet,”  he  continued,  with  a laugh,  “there  was  an 
end  to  grandmother’s  fringe.” 

“How  well  that  cabinet  looks,  Jason,”  she  said,  with 
a desire  to  give  him  some  sort  of  encouragement. 

He  snapped  his  white  teeth  together,  and  stifled  a 


TWO  MEN. 


119 


sigh  of  self-pity,  threw  up  his  hammer  in  the  air,  caught 
it,  turned  on  his  heel,  and  left  the  room. 

When  they  met  at  supper,  Sarah  beamed  behind  a 
heaped-up  dish  of  apple-fritters,  for  which  Jason  ex- 
pressed becoming  gratitude. 

“ Is  the  struggle  about  over,  mother,  with  carpets  and 
things  ?”  Parke  asked.  * 

“ About.” 

“We  are  forehanded  with  the  fall,  this  year,”  said 
Elsa. 

“ Let’s  have  a party  for  benighted  natives,  and  show 
them  our  furniture,”  suggested  Parke. 

“ Don’t  be  foolish,”  said  Sarah ; “ but  we  must  have 
company  on  Mr.  Ritchings’s  account,  and  Sam  Rogers’s.” 

“ It  is  almost  a month,”  said  Jason,  “ since  any  thing 
was  done  for  Ritchings  by  the  female  parishioners.” 

“ Anyhow,”  cried  Parke,  “we’ll  give  Sam  Rogers  an 
entertainment.” 

Philippa  laughed  at  the  idea  of  Sam’s  enjoying  com- 
pany, but  Parke  was  in  earnest.  He  had  a chivalrous 
feeling  for  Sam,  which  did  him  honor,  especially  as  he 
was  aware  that  his  friendship  was  gratuitous  ; indeed,  it 
was  the  only  friendship  he  had  ever  sought.  There  was 
no  similarity  between  them ; they  never  liked  the  same 
people,  nor  held  the  same  opinions.  Sam  never  took  any 
trouble  to  please  Parke,  but  he  was  not  insensible  to  his 
attachment.  At  first  Sam  flatly  refused  to  attend  Mrs. 
Auster’s  party,  but  he  was  the  earliest  guest  who  ap- 
peared. He  came  early,  he  said,  that  he  might  stow 
himself  away  somewhere.  He  laughed  more  shyly,  and 
spoke  with  more  vehemence,  than  was  his  wont ; but  he 
did  not  change  color,  or  lose  his  tongue.  Parke  took  a 


120 


TWO  MEN. 


survey  of  him,  and  admired  "his  manliness.  Philippa  di- 
rected him  to  sit  beside  her,  if  he  did  not  wish  to  receive 
any  attention.  She  could  not  help  contrasting  him  with 
Parke,  and  taking  him  for  just  what  he  was  worth,  as  she 
in  her  thoughts  expressed ; how  much  higher  in  the  scale 
Parke  stood ! Sam  was  all  over  brown,  face,  hands,  and 
hair,  which  last  was  so  thick,  short,  and  curly,  it  would 
not  part.  His  nose  was  large,  and  his  mouth  wide ; his 
eyebrows  were  close  together,  and  his  eyes  were  small, 
but  they  were  keen  and  penetrating.  Parke’s  serene, 
marble-like  brow,  the  faint  bloom  coming  and  going  in 
his  cheeks,  his  large,  sensitive  eyes,  his  firm,  beautifully- 
cut  mouth,  the  indescribable,  unconscious  grace  of  his 
attitudes,  the  movement  of  his  head,  and  his  air  of  repose 
and  self-possession,  proved  him  worthy  of  Philippa’s 
ideal. 

“ What  did  you  let  mother  have  the  pattern  of  this 
choking  collar  for,  Philippa?”  Sam  growled.  “I  am 
strangled  and  miserable.” 

“Ha,  old  fellow,”  said  Parke,  “you  have  come  to 
wearing  something  like  what  I wear.  Thanks,  Philip- 
pa.” 

“ I could  not  thwart  your  mother’s  ambitious  views 
for  you,”  Philippa  replied. 

“ Mother  is  losing  her  wits.” 

“You  are  an  only  child,  remember.” 

“Say,  Philippa”  (Parke  had  turned  away),  “is  Mrs. 
Auster  as  soft  on  Parke  as  she  used  to  be  ? He  has 
grown  up  to  be  just  what  I thought  he  would  be.” 

“ What  is  that  ?” 

“ He  has  never  checked  one  of  his  tendencies,  nor  had 
them  checked.” 


TWO  MEN. 


121 


“ We  differ  about  him,”  she  said,  gently. 

“ You  are  soft  yourself  about  him,  as  you  always 
were,  hey  ?” 

He  was  embarrassed,  looked  down  on  his  hands,  and 
opened  and  shut  them  as  if  they  were  his  safety-valves. 
She  looked  at  them,  too,  and  for  the  hundredth  time 
noticed  the  blue  stars  and  crescent  moon  pricked  in  In- 
dia-ink  on  his  right  hand. 

“ He  is  enthusiastic  about  you,”  she  said. 

“ He  is  a fine  fellow,  and  ought  to  go  whaling,”  he  an- 
swered, with  an  expression  which  denoted  that  he  should 
say  no  more  to  her  about  Parke. 

She  was  called  away,  and  he  amused  himself  by  shuf- 
fling a pack  of  cards,  which  he  took  from  a table  near 
him,  and  studying  Philippa.  He  feared  that  she,  too, 
had  grown  up  to  be  what  he  suspected  four  years  ago ; 
he  knew  her  too  well  to  hope  that  her  feelings  would  be 
changed  by  any  ordinary  grief  or  disappointment.  All 
that  could  be  done  for  her,  in  case  Parke  should  break 
her  heart,  would  amount  to  very  little,  for  she  *would 
accept  no  consolation.  He  had  dubbed  himself  her 
knight  when  she  was  a small  girl,  however,  and  he 
would,  in  his  own  fashion,  stand  between  her  and  harm. 
She  would  never  perceive  it,  so  he  might  as  well  make  the 
effort.  Who  would,  if  not  he  ? She  never  had  a real 
friend  in  her  life.  “Damned  shame,”  he  almost  said 
aloud,  and  struck  his  knee  so  that  the  cards  fell  in  a 
shower  at  his  feet.  Looking  up,  he  saw  Parke  contem- 
plating him. 

“ Avast,”  said  Parke,  when  he  met  his  eye. 

“ Avast  it  is.  Look  here.” 

“ I am.” 


122 


TWO  MEN. 


“ What  about  that  gal  mother  told  me  of,  who  has 
been  visiting  here  ?” 

“ I’ll  show  you  her  picture,  if  you  will  step  out.” 

“ How  many  have  you  collected  since  I went  off?” 

“ My  collection  is  small,  but  choice.” 

“ And  important,  if  true.” 

Parke  led  the  way  into  his  room,  and  was  obliged  to 
look  in  several  places  before  he  could  find  Theresa’s  pic- 
ture, which  fact  Sam  noted. 

“ There,”  said  he,  producing  it ; “ isn’t  that  stunning 
to  your  harpooning  mind  ? Did  you  ever  see  a hand- 
somer face  ?” 

“ I have  seen  a better  one.” 

“ Of  course,  you  must  detract.  Have  you  a suspicion 
that  I am  in  love  with  the  owner  of  that  face  ?” 

“You  may  have  more  than  a suspicion  that  you  are; 
but  you  are  not.” 

He  tossed  the  picture  on  a pile  of  books,  and  stared 
at  Parke. 

“ Tfc  is  no  go,”  he  said. 

Parke  returned  the  stare,  and  answered  : “ It  all  de- 
pends on  your  decision,  my  brave  tar,  of  course.  I have 
only  waited  for  you  to  come  from  your  ancient  and  fish- 
like calling,  to  be  settled  in  life.” 

They  reappeared  in  the  parlor,  arm  in  arm,  and  Sarah 
remarked  complacently  to  Mrs.  Rogers,  that  it  was 
pleasant  to  see  Sam’s  delight  in  the  society  of  Parke. 

“ I don’t  know,”  Mrs.  Rogers  replied,  “ which  he 
makes  the  most  of,  Philippa  or  Parke ; but  I reckon  he’d 
do  any  thing  to  please  Philippa.” 

Sarah  sneered ; but  the  sneer  was  lost  on  the  good- 
natured  Mrs.  Rogers. 


TWO  MEN. 


123 


“Jason  sticks  to  his  rule  still,”  she  added,  “of  not 
making  his  appearance  when  there  is  any  company 
round.” 

“ He  is  a poor  hand  at  entertaining  people.” 

“ Now  I don’t  agree  with  you ; / find  him  an  excellent 
companion.” 

“ He  does  seem  to  be  at  home  with  you,”  Philippa 
remarked.  “ I wonder  why  ?” 

“ Trot  right  off,  Philippa,  and  attend  to  Mr.  Hitchings  ; 
he  don’t  take  his  eyes  off  of  you.” 

Sarah  bit  her  lips,  and  looked  round  at  him  angrily. 


124 


TWO  MEN. 


chapter  xyi 

The  house  in  the  order  she  destined  it  to  he,  Parke 
settled  at  home,  looking  forward  to  no  change — what 
remained  for  Sarah  hut  repose?  A thorn  grew  in  her 
spirit,  which  rendered  nugatory  her  well-earned  content. 
She  could  no  longer  disguise  the  fact  that  Mr.  Ritchings 
loved  Philippa.  It  angered  her  to  see  that  his  love  was 
not  received  as  a favor,  with  gratitude  and  agitation ; 
and  it  angered  her  to  know  that  a man  whom  she  re- 
spected and  admired  should  think  of  selecting  Philippa 
for  his  wife.  It  irritated  her  also  to  understand  that  he 
might  place  Philippa  in  a position  where  she  could,  by 
her  money  and  name,  aid  him  in  his  career  more  than 
she  herself  loved  to  aid  him.  She  determined  to  caution 
him.  The  caution  was  well  conveyed ; it  influenced  him, 
but  did  not  bring  him  to  the  point  of  ending  his  hopes. 

Philippa  was,  so  Sarah  said,  peculiarly  unfitted  for 
the  place  a minister’s  wife  should  occupy.  Under  the 
most  favorable  circumstances,  it  was  disadvantageous 
for  him  to  select  a wife  in  his  own  parish ; it  was  sure 
to  create  dissension  in  all  its  families,  except  the  one  he 
married  into.  It  was  a familiarity  on  his  part  that  bred 
him  contempt — falling  in  love,  courtship,  engagement, 
marriage,  should  be  performed  afar  off.  Under  unfavor- 
able circumstances,  as  in  Philippa’s  case  it  would  be, 
the  state  of  things  would  be  far  worse.  She  was  not 
admired ; she  was  cold ; had  no  friendships  in  Crest — no 
interest. 


TWO  MEN. 


125 


“ Her  property  is  an  interest,  is  it  not  ?”  he  asked. 

“ What  do  you  know  about  that  ?”  she  asked  sharply. 
“ Has  Jason — ” 

“ Jason  has  said  nothing,”  he  . answered  haughtily. 
“ I have  asked  him  nothing.  But  if  ever  a girl  under- 
stood what  the  c sentiment  of  the  soil  ’ is,  it  is  Philippa.” 
It  is  incredible,  but  she  continued,  without  actually 
lying,  to  give  him  an  impression  that  it  was  by  no 
means  certain  that  Philippa  would  inherit  much  of  the 
“ soil her  father  was  still  alive — a man  of  reckless  char- 
acter and  extravagant  habits,  who  would  prove  a curse 
to  him,  should  any  relation  be  established  between 
them. 

“In  all  the  years,”  taking  up  the  topic  of  her  char- 
acter again,  “I  have  never  heard  one  expi^ssion  of 
gratitude  or  affection  from  her.  I have  watched  over 
her  when  ill,  day  and  night.”  A real  tear  shone  in 
Sarah’s  eyes,  which  he  credited,  for  he  knew  that  she 
had  most  carefully  watched  over  Philippa,  of  whose  re- 
gard and  devotion  to  Parke  he  tried  to  speak. 

“ He  makes  devotion  easy,  you  know ; he  has  the 
power  and  means  of  gratification  far  more  than  you 
have.  Besides,  she  has  grown  up  with  him,  and  affection 
between  them  is  a habit.  She  is  a creature  of  habit.” 

“ Is  she  entirely  devoid  of  passion  ?”  he  asked,  with  a 
flushed  face. 

“ There,”  she  replied,  with  a contemptuous  sparkle  in 
her  sharp  eyes,  “ you  step  on  ground  I know  nothing 
about.  I do  not  look  into  such  questions.” 

“ Why  don’t  you  ?”  he  said  roughly  ; “ society  hinges 
on  questions  like  these.  You,  a wife  and  mother,  ignore 
them.” 


11* 


126 


TWO  MEN. 


She  tossed  her  curls.  “ I presume  we  differ  in  our 
ideas.” 

“In  describing  Philippa,”  he  said,  in  an  exasperating 
voice,  “ I fancy  you  have  described  your  model  in  spite 
of  yourself ; she  is  one  not  to  be  moved  by  a man’s  love, 
nor  his  hate.” 

“ Experiment  for  yourself,  then  ; I have  spoken  for 
your  good  alone,  against  one  whose  father  is  my  nearest 
relation.  You  must  know  that  I am  in  earnest.” 

From  the  time  of  this  discourse,  his  conduct  towards 
Philippa  w^as  a curious  mixture  of  neglect  and  watch- 
fulness, the  satirical  and  the  dignified,  the  perplexed 
and  the  determined. 

To  watch  him,  and  distrust  his  strength,  to  lay  up  a 
store  of  irritation  against  Philippa’s  insouciant  behavior 
towards  him,  became  the  task  which  prevented  any 
folding  of  the  hands,  and  drove  Sarah  at  the  old  speed. 

Mr.  Ritchings  haunted  the  house  and  the  whole  family. 
If  he  met  Jason  in  the  street,  he  turned  and  walked 
with  him ; if*he  saw  Parke  riding,  he  beckoned  to  be 
taken  up  and  conveyed  to  some  place  he  had  no  previous 
intention  of  going  to.  He  appeared  to  have  discovered 
that  Elsa  was  an  “ original,”  and  made  frequent  raids 
into  her  territory;  but  he  never  talked  of  Philippa — not 
even  to  Sarah  did  he  again  mention  her. 

Elsa  met  his  advances  with  an  air  of  simplicity  which 
made  Jason  laugh,  and  speak  to  her  of  the  condition  he 
knew  Mr.  Ritchings  to  be  in.  He  was  working,  he  said, 
against  wind  and  tide. 

“ My  opinion  is,”  she  replied,  “ that  beaux  won’t  in- 
terfere much  with  her ; but  if  she  should  ever  set  her 
heart  on  anybody,  she  will  hold  on  like  grim  death  to 


TWO  HEN. 


127 


him.  She  is  like  her  father  there ; he  had  but  few  ideas 
but  they  were  strong  ones.  I hope  she  never  will  fancy 
she  loves  some  man.” 

“ Why  not  ?” 

“ Because  she  will  be  disappointed,  most  likely.” 

“No  she  won’t ; she  shall  not  be.” 

“We  are  all  disappointed,  for  that  matter — don’t  you 
think  so  ? If  we  reach  up  to  a round  above  us  in  the 
ladder,  we  have  to  let  go  the  one  we  stand  on ; then  we 
look  back  on  it,  and  are  sorry  we  moved.  If  we  don’t 
reach  up,  we  are  looking  up.  Mr.  Ditchings  is  in  just 
such  a fix.” 

“We  are  all  disappointed,  are  we?” 

“ I don’t  know  that  you  are.  Neither  death,  disgrace, 
nor  poverty,  have  knocked  at  your  door  yet.” 

. “ Disgrace  has.” 

“ Why,  Mr.  Auster,  you  scare  me;  you  are  joking.” 

“ Disgrace  has  knocked  at  my  door  with  a lantern  in 
her  hand.” 

He  was  forgetting  himself,  but  her  disturbed  face  re- 
called his  thoughts. 

“ She  comes  to  most  people  in  the  dark,  I guess,”  she 
said,  hastily.  “ I only  knew  you  when  you  were  first 
married;  if  you  had  any  by-gones  before  that,  hadn’t 
they  better  be  by-gones  ? How  well  I remember  your 
wedding-coat !” 

“ Blue,  with  brass  buttons ; — where  is  it  ?” 

“ Why,  Sarah  cut  it  up  'the  other  day ; I guess  it  was 
moth-eaten.” 

“ Did  she  ?”  A look*of  pain  passed  over  his  face. 

“ Do  you  expect  Osmond  Luce  to  come  back  ever  ?” 
she  asked,  suddenly. 


128 


TWO  MEN. 


“ I think  he  will  come  ; why  do  you  ask  ?” 

u In  case  Philippa  should  change  her  mind  about  Mr. 
Ritchings,  what  a nice  father-in-law  he  would  make  a 
minister !” 

“ He  is  not  so  bad,  Elsa ; he  gave  up  his  rights  to 
Philippa,  you  know.” 

“That  was  because  he  didn’t  want  them,  you  may 
depend;  if  he  had,  heaven  and  earth  would  not  have 
kept  him  out  of  them.  Dilly-dallying  here  won’t  make 
my  pie-crust,  though.” 

She  vanished  from  the  kitchen,  where  she  had  held 
her  confab,  into  the  adjoining  buttery. 

Jason  was  moody;  he  seemed  to  himself  to  have  been 
but  a dull  clod.  Tie  had  droned  in  Crest  and  had  his 
wedding-coat  cut  up,  while  Osmond  Luce,  breaking 
every  shackle,  like  the  bold,  generous  spirit  that  he  was,  # 
had  made  himself  free,  and  had  followed  out  his  true 
impulses.  He — Jason — too,  had  been*  troubled  with 
some  ideas  about  improving  Humanity  ! He  should  be 
glad  now  to  have  it  proved  that  he  had  made  himself  a 
little  wiser  and  better  than  he  was  when  he  started  on 
the  tour  of  life  ; the  sunshine,  the  fair  tideless  river,  had 
tempted  him,  and  he  had  laid  on  its  banks,  like  a hulking 
beast,  gaping  for  flies.  His  face  grew  dark,  and  the 
muscles  hardened  round  his  mouth  like  iron  cords ; he 
rose  and  stretched  his  hands  above  his  head,  striking 
with  his  palms  the  ceiling.  At  that  moment  Philippa 
entered  by  the  porch  door,  with  a branch  of  maple  in 
her  hand  crimsoned  by  the  October  frost.  She  had 
been  taunted  by  Sarah  that  day ;"  to  escape  her,  and  her 
own  feelings,  she  had  gone  into  the  distant  fields,  and 
skirted  the  borders  of  the  woods,  till  she  was  utterly 


TWO  MEN. 


129 


fatigued.  She  paused  when  she  saw  Jason;  the  elec- 
trical atmosphere  of  a perturbed  spirit  passed  from  one 
to  the  other ; it  produced  in  her  a vague  wish  to  be  un- 
derstood by  him,  and  in  him  an  emotion  which  made 
him  curious. 

“Look  at  this,  Jason.  I brought  it  from  the  Bartlett 
fields ; there  is  a line  of  maples  blazing  up  there.” 

She  approached  him. 

“ Have  you  been  so  far  ?” 

“ Yes ; Gilbert  is  up  there,  with  the  dogs.” 

“The  dogs  have  run  away.” 

He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  face,  but  with  an  ex- 
pression of  self-assertion  and  self-mastery  that  made  him 
look  kingly.  The  branch  was  extended  to  him ; he  took 
it  and  twirled  it  to  and  fro; — a heavenly  smile  broke 
over  his  sorrowful  eyes. 

“ Thank  you,  Philippa.” 

“ Oh,  I am  not  going  to  give  it  to  you ; I promised 
Theresa  to  gather  her  some  autumn  leaves.” 

He  was  ^thanking  her — not  for  the  crimson  branch, 
but  for  appearing  before  him  then,  to  make  him  remem- 
ber that  at  least  he  could  suffer  nobly.  He  handed  it 
back  to  her. 

“ Theresa  must  have  all  she  wants,”  he  said. 

“ 1ST o,  not  every  thing.” 

“ Don’t  you  think  so  ?” 

“ Why,  no  ; do  you  ?” 

Surprised  at  the  tone  of  her  voice,  he  was  silent,  while 
she  stripped  every  leaf  from  the  branch  so  slowly  that 
he  counted  each  one  as  it  fell ; with  the  last  she  looked 
up.  Her  eyes  made  him  wonder  what  the  matter  was 
with  her. 


130 


TWO  MEN. 


“Do  you  mean  any  thing  concerning  Parke?”  he 
asked. 

“ Yes.” 

“ There  is  nothing  wrong,  I hope ; he  still  likes  her, 
does  he  not  ? They  like  each  other ; — a very  happy 
match,  I should  say.” 

“ I thought  you  might  know,  Jason,”  she  almost  whis- 
pered. The  truth  burst  in  upon  him. 

“ What — what,  what 

“ That  I have  believed — that  I myself  should  marry” — 

It  was  beyond  his  power  not  to  put  his  hand  over  her 
mouth ; he  stifled  the  name  between  her  lips.  She  saw 
he  knew  it,  but  could  not  understand  the  check.  Elsa 
made  a providential  clatter  close  by  them,  and  she  at- 
tributed it  to  that.  A wave  of  anguish  dashed  over 
him,  followed  by  a host  of  roaring,  crawling,  cruel  emo- 
tions, that  rent  him  asunder ; he  felt  as  if  soul  and  body 
were  parting. 

“ Come  in  the  dining-room,”  he  said,  calmly ; “ Elsa 
is  noisy.”  * 

Half  leading,  half  carrying  her,  he  placed  her  on  a 
sofa  and  himself  beside  her,  and  then,  as  the  room  was 
darkened  by  blinds  and  shades,  he  allowed  his  pain, 
amazement,  and  perplexity  to  fight  as  best  they  might. 
In  her  profound  egotism  she  thought  that  he  was  con- 
sidering how  her  wishes  could  be  brought  about. 

At  last  he  said,  “ Can  Parke  make  you  happy  ?” 

“ I was  happy  with  him.” 

“ Could  Theresa  be  happy  with  him  ?” 

“ He  would  not  be  with  her.” 

“Ah !” 

“ I think  there  is  no  engagement  between  them.” 


TWO  MEN. 


131 


“None?”  he  asked,  bitterly;  “what  were  they  doing 
together  here  ?” 

“ Trifling.” 

“ It  was  that,  was  it  ? Trifles  do  not  disturb  you  ?” 

She  was  abashed  at  his  accent,  but  said  in  a firm  voice, 
presently,  “Jason,  if  our  lot  is  cast  with  another’s,  we 
must  bear  all  the  crosses,  as  well  as  our  own  hopes.  My 
judgment  sanctions  all  that  I would  do.  Do  not  believe 
that  I am  mistaken.” 

One  of  the  parlor  doors  opened,  and  Sarah  entered 
with  her  hands  full  of  some  sort  of  sewing- work. 

“ You  are  posted  here,  are  you  ?”  she  said,  when  she 
perceived  them ; “ but  it  is  not  necessary  to  keep  in  the 
dark,  is  it  ?” 

Jason  rolled  up  the  shade,  and  threw  open  the  blind. 

“ Will  you  sit  down  ?”  he  asked. 

“ Are  you  talking  over  business  ?” 

“ Oh  no !” 

Philippa  felt  towards  her  a repulsion  which  acted  like 
a charm ; she  wished— in  a lethargic  way,  however — that 
the  charm  would  vanish,  so  that  in  some  shape  she  could 
hurt  her. 

“Philippa  has  talked  a great  deal  to-day,”  Sarah 
said. 

“We  were  speaking  now,”  Philippa  replied,  “of  The- 
resa.” 

“ You  don’t  approve  of  her,  I suppose.” 

“Nonsense,  Sarah,”  said  Jason;  “why  should  she  ap- 
prove of  her  ? because  she  flirted  with  Parke  ?” 

Sarah  looked  very  angrily  at  Jason;  his  manner  was 
unusual. 

“ Are  you  putting  your  finger  in  the  pie  ?” 


132 


TWO  MEN. 


“ If  you  mean  a match  between  Theresa  and  Parke, 
yes, — I oppose  it.” 

He  left  the  room  before  she  could  reply  to  him. 

“ Are  you  influencing  him  ?” 

“What  makes  me  dislike  you  so  utterly?”  asked  Phil- 
ippa ; “ I cannot  account  for  it.” 

“ Answer  me — what  does  he  mean  ?” 

“ I’ll  answer  you  nothing  just  now.” 

“ I advise  you  not  to  meddle  in  anybody’s  love  affairs, 
if  that  was  the  subject  of  your  discourse.” 

“ Love !”  cried  Philippa ; “ yes,  that  was  the  word. 
Do  you  know  it  ?” 

She  rose  from  the  sofa,  with  glittering  eyes  fixed  upon 
a distant  something,  and  clasped  her  hands  together 
with  an  inspired  gesture,  which  reminded  Sarah  of  the 
episode  of  the  rosary. 

“You  are  crazy,”  she  said. 

“ I have  been  mad  for  years ; do  you  think  that  I 
should  have  lived  with  you  if  I hadn’t  been  ?” 

Light  flashed  in  upon  Sarah’s  mind  also.  “Had  Phil- 
ippa been  idiot  enough  to  expect  to  gain  Parke  ?”  she 
thought.  If  it  was  so,  she  would  never  allow  Philippa 
to  dream  that  such  a thing  was  possible.  It  was  not 
possible,  as  far  as  Parke  was  concerned,  and  yet — there 
was  the  property,  which  might  be  all  his  again.  But  no, 
the  idea  of  that  girl  being  his  wife  was  not  to  be  thought 
of.  She  started  up  with  an  energetic  movement,  and 
said,  “ Don’t  show  that  you  are  cracked  to  more  people 
than  you  can  help.  If  Jason  has  nothing  better  to  do, 
he  can  listen  to  you.  I wish  you  to  attend  to  those  pil- 
low-cases I spoke  to  you  of.” 

“Yes,”  said  Philippa,  with  the  habit  of  obedience,  “I 
will” 


TWO  MEN. 


133 


“ Here,  here,”  called  Elsa,  from  the  passage,  “ whose 
litter  of  leaves  is  this  ? Sarah,  I want  you  in  the  but- 
tery.” 

Mr.  Ritchings,  the  unconscious  agent  of  this  develop- 
ment, came  that  very  evening  to  the  panelled  parlor, 
where  Philippa  sat  stitching  the  pillow-cases,  and  Sarah 
knitting.  It  would  seem  as  if  that  day’s  turbulent  life 
included  him  in  its  outward  circling  waves.  With  Phil- 
ippa’s scissors,  and  on  her  side  of  the  table,  he  snipped 
paper,  and  talked  philosophy  which  was  full  of  calm  bit- 
terness. Sarah  sympathized  with  him,  and  Philippa 
coldly  combated.  Parke  had  gone  to  pay  a visit  some- 
where; Jason  and  Elsa  were  absent,  but  Sarah  main- 
tained the  field,  which  he  wished  was  clear.  She  grew 
jocose,  and  compelled  him  to  listen  to  her. 

“It  is  too  cold  to  open  the  window,  I suppose,”  he 
said,  at  last.  “ You  should  see  the  moon  to-night.” 

Philippa  rose,  threw  up  the  sash,  and  stepped  out  on 
the  terrace. 

Sarah  looked  up  at  him  with  a restraining  eye. 

“Why  do  you  sit  in  this  room  so  much?”  he  asked, 
impatiently.  “ These  dark  panels  oppress  me ; haven’t 
the  walls  the  power  of  contracting  ?” 

“ You  would  breathe  more  freely  outside.” 

“To  tell  you  the  truth — yes.” 

“ Go,  and  have  done  with  it,”  she  said,  suddenly,  and 
somewhat  sadly.  “ Philippa  has  been  a whirlpool  before 
to-day.” 

“ Whirlpools  have  one  advantage — they  don’t  leave  a 
wreck  behind.” 

“ I thought  differently — that  all  sorts  of  things  would 
come  tossing  ashore  with  every  storm,  from  their  depths. 

12 


134 


TWO  MEN. 


I feel  it  is  so.’7  And  she  shivered.  “ The  house  seems  full 
to  me  of  spoils  that  have  been  destroyed  by  their  un- 
governable rage.” 

He  had  followed  Philippa.  Sarah  laid  down  her  knit- 
ting, crossed  the  room  several  times,  and  then  stopped 
before  a portrait  of  the  Squire,  painted  at  the  age  of 
forty. 

“ She  is  contemplating  her  ancestor,”  he  thought,  cast- 
ing a look  backward.  “Why  don’t  she  give  up  her 
vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit  before  that  representation 
of  sublime  selfishness  ?” 

Philippa  was  pacing  to  and  fro  between  a row  of 
shrubs  and . the  windows.  The  moon,  midway  in  the 
sky,  sailed  up  from  a bank  of  clouds,  and  dispersed  them 
in  a pearly  shower  of  vapor  which  sped  its  way  before 
her.  Under  the  horizon  the  sea,  struck  by  its  waves, 
ran  hither  and  thither — a world  of  billows  without  a 
margin.  Crest  lay  half  in  shadow,  half  in  light,  wrap- 
ped in  the  mysterious  silence  which  is  inseparable  from 
moonlight.  Never  does  the  soul  feel  so  far  from  human 
life  as  when  a man  finds  himself  alone  in  the  vistas  of 
the  moon,  either  in  the  streets  of  a sleeping  city,  the 
avenues  of  the  woods,  or  by  the  border  of  the  sea. 
Earth,  swayed  perhaps  by  her  powerful  satellite,  with- 
draws her  sympathy  from  him,  and  he  wanders  in  a 
white  void,  wondering  if  he  was  born  to  be  thus  an- 
nulled. 

“ Does  this  beauty  make  you  feel  that  you 

‘Would  be  something  that  you  know  not  of, 

In  winds  or  waters?’  ” 

Mr.  Ritchings  asked,  pacing  beside  her. 


TWO  MEN. 


135 

“ JSTo  ; I think  of  lunatics  in  moonlight  nights.  There 
is  no  wind,  hut  the  atmosphere  is  full  of  chilly  moisture.” 

“ Let  me  get  you  a shawl.  Don’t  go  in  ; walk  down 
the  path  with  me.” 

She  declined  the  shawl,  hut  assented  to  the  walk. 
They  went  down  the  terrace.  He  endeavored  to  take 
her  hand,  hut  she  quietly  folded  one  over  the  other,  and 
prevented  him. 

“ I read  a horrid  thing  the  other  day,”  she  said, 
“ c Christahel.’  I am  reminded  of  it  to-night.” 

They  stopped  before  the  gate.  Surveying  the  road 
helow  it  a moment,  he  said,  in  a matter-of-fact  way,  “ I 
wish  you  would  w^alk  down  the  path  of  life  with  me.” 

“ You  really  wish  it  ?”  she  asked,  confronting  him. 

“ If  you  were  not  the  coldest,  most  insensible  girl  in 
the  world,  you  would  have  known  my  wish  long  ago.” 

She  shook  her  head  slightly.  Cold  as  she  was,  the 
sight  of  her  at  that  moment  of  soft,  subdued  light,  stand- 
* ing  under  the  rolling  sky,  the  dark  trees  round  her,  alone 
with  him,  sent  his  blood  warmly  through  his  heart.  She 
wore  a dark  dress,  which,  with  the  shadows,  concealed 
her  form,  but.  her  head  and  face  looked  angelic.  Her 
fair,  flowing  hair,  her  firm  brow,  her  sweet  mouth,  her 
little  hands,  which  moved  restlessly,  made  a picture  that 
hung  in  his  memory  long  after. 

“ Believe  me,”  she  said,  in  a broken  voice,  “ I could 
never  satisfy  you.” 

“ That  I know.  But  I love  you.” 

“ I beg  you,”  she  said,  in  a gentle  voice,  “ to  give  up 
all  hope.” 

“Why  should  I?” 

“ Because  I can  only  be  your  poor  friend.” 


136 


TWO  MEN. 


“You  are  very  young,  Philippa.  You  may  be  more 
yet  to  me.” 

“ My  character  is  not  formed, — you  would  say  ?”  she 
asked  quickly. 

“ Precisely.” 

He  would  have  it  a drawn  game. 

“ Well,  let  us  walk  back,”  she  said,  and  to  compel  him 
to  do  so,  she  placed  her  arm  in  his. 

Sarah  had  resumed  her  knitting.  She  did  not  raise 
her  eyes,  but  began  to  chat  as  soon  as  they  entered. 
Philippa  was  silent.  She  judged  that  Mr.  Ritchings 
might  be  as  persistent  in  his  feelings  as  she  was  in  hers, 
and  she  did  not  know  how  to  manage  him.  He  soon 
bade  Sarah  good-night,  but  instead  of  going  home, 
walked  beyond  the  town,  till  he  heard  the  baying  of 
Jason’s  dogs  in  the  woods.  He  wished,  for  a moment, 
to  change  places  with  that  “ free,  indifferent,  rough  man, 
the  delicacy  of  whose  feelings  would  never  stand  in  the 
way  of  his  happiness.”  At  that  moment  Jason  was  * 
lying  in  the  depths  of  the  woods,  half  buried  in  the  fall- 
ing autumn  leaves,  so  still  that  the  “wingless  airs”  crept 
about  him  undisturbed,  so  sad  that  the  leaves  were 
moistened  with  his  tears. 


TWO  MEN. 


137 


m CHAPTER  XVII. 

Sam  Rogers  was  aware  of  the  state  of  Mr.  ditchings. 
They  met  often  at  Jason’s,  and  he  was  the  only  one  of 
the  coterie  whom  Mr.  Ritchings  neglected — the  one  who 
alone  could  have  given  him  an  insight  into  the  real  life 
of  the  family.  He  called  him  “ the  whaler,”  and  “ your 
awkward  friend,”  and  “ the  nautical  man,”  and  asked 
Sarah  what  the  attraction  was  about  Sam,  and  why 
Parke  and  Philippa  were  never  bored  with  his  society. 
Sarah  replied  with  some  asperity,  that  his  courage,  hon- 
esty, and  perseverance  had  won  him  everybody’s  respect, 
and  that  he  was  a protege  of  her  grandfather’s.  Mr. 
Ritchings  said  no  more.  Sam  had  a fondness  for  chess. 
He  induced  Philippa  to  learn  the  game,  and  evening 
after  evening  they  pored  over  it.  He  also  professed  to 
have  more  ear  for  music  than  formerly,  and  often  en- 
gaged Parke  at  the  piano.  Some  kind  of  a nucleus  was 
needed,  he  argued  with  himself,  in  that  house,  for  Philip- 
pa’s sake — something  to  knit  them  together  and  bring  out 
their  good  qualities.  He  wished  that  he  could  play  the 
family  as  he  played  chess.  The  winter  must  be  passed 
pleasantly ; therefore  when  Parke  suggested  that  there 
should  be  a series*  of  cotillon  parties,  he  cheerfully  con- 
sented to  be  manager  with  him,  although  he  was  only  in 
the  jig  line  himself.  The  visit  to  Theresa  Bond  was  put 
off  till  the  latter  part  of  winter,  and  Philippa,  since 
Parke’s  heart  was  in  the  cotillons,  made  up  some  even- 
12* 


138 


TWO  MEN. 


ing  dresses,  and  practised  waltzing  with  him  in  the  par- 
lors. Elsa  called  waltzing  the  devil’s  ring-round,  hut 
she  must  say  that  she  thought  Philippa  was  an  adept  in 
it.  Sarah  made  no  opposition  to  the  scheme,  because  it 
was  Parke’s,  and  said  nothing  in  its  favor,  because  she 
was  a member  of  the. church,  which  disapproved  of  fri- 
volities. Her  tacit  consent  was  borne  out  by  the  fact 
that  most  of  the  dancers  were  children  of  church-mem- 
bers, like  herself,  who  said  “ the  young  will  be  young,” 
and  “ nature  will  out,”  in  spite  of  the  tenet  that  dancing 
was  one  way  of  going  to  perdition. 

After  the  first  cotillon  party,  however,  Mr.  Ritchings 
preached  a Calvinist  sermon,  which  made  his  hearers 
nod  and  wink  at  each  other,  with  a grim  sense  of  humor 
at  their  deserved  punishment.  This  was  the  only  way 
he  noticed  Philippa’s  evident  pleasure  in  the  cotillons. 
It  made  him  heart-sick  as  well  as  polemical;  it  was  a 
matter  in  which  the  line  of  separation  was  an  iron  chain. 
Why  should  a man’s  profession  compel  him  to  take  part 
against  himself?  Why  should  a man’s  calling  be  so 
much  better  than  himself,  that  to  keep  up  with  its  de- 
mands he  must  play  the  hypocrite  ? Not  that  he  wished 
to  dance — far  from  it — but  he  did  not  wish  to  be  exclu- 
ded from  Philippa,  who  was  all  that  could  make  him 
good. 

A universal  excitement  prevailed,  when  the  cotillons 
opened  at  the  Crest  Hall,  among  those  who  went,  and 
those  who  stayed  at  home;  a new  sensation  was  felt,  be- 
cause they  were  under  Parke  Auster’s  auspices,  who  had 
never  been  prominent  in  any  public  enterprise  before. 
Even  the  staid  Gilbert  went  to  the  hall  entrance  to  see 
the  guests  enter;  when  he  returned,  he  asked  Mary  who 


TWO  MEN*. 


139 


she  supposed  was  there  ? Elsa,  startled  from  her  doze  by 
the  fire,  said,  irritably,  “ Your  master,  the  devil.” 

“I  shouldn’t  wonder,  Elsa;  but,  besides  him,  Mrs. 

^ Lang’s  girls  are  there.” 

“ Oh,  gracious  !”  exclaimed  Mary,  “ well,  I never ; did 
you,  Elsa?” 

“ Who  invited  them  ?”  asked  Elsa. 

“ The  managers,  I suppose,”  he  answered,  lighting  his 
barn-lantern;  “ Parke  Auster,  Esq.,  and  Sam  ifogers, 
Esq.” 

“ You’d  better  confine  your  observations  to  the  barn,” 
suggested  Elsa. 

“ Think  so?  Well,  I will.”  And  he  disappeared. 

“ It’s  that  Sam  Rogers’s  work,”  says  Mary ; “ he  don’t 
know  who  to  invite,  and  who  not  to.  How  should  he  ? 
been  whaling  all  his  life.” 

“No,  it  isn’t,”  -Elsa  replied,  rubbing  her  glasses 
thoughtfully. 

“ Those  girls  haven’t  been  about  any  to  my  knowledge. 
I never  saw  either  of  them.” 

“ I have.” 

“ I wonder  #diat  they  have  got  on  to-night.” 

“ Pshaw,  Mary ; do  you  know  who  you  are  talking 
about  ?” 

“ I believe  I do — fugitive  slaves.” 

“ Niggers : let  them  alone.” 

Mary  was  silenced,  and  Elsa  took  a lamp  and  went  to 
bed. 

The  Lang  girls  were  the  latest  at  the  dance.  Parke 
was  dancing  with  Philippa  when  they  entered ; as  soon 
as  it  was  over,  Sam  Rogers  went  to  him  to  inquire  how 
they  got  in. 


140 


TWO  MEN. 


“They  came  with  Tim  Jones.” 

“ Did  he  bring  them  here  without  consulting  you  as 
to  the  propriety  of  so  doing  ?” 

“He  spoke  of  bringing  them  when  he  took  his 
ticket.” 

“ You  consented  ?” 

Parke  gave  him  a rigid  stare. 

“ I did  more.” 

“ Have  you  seen  them  before  ?’ 

“ Since  you  are  getting  up  a catechism — yes.  I saw 
Charlotte  Lang  once  with  her  mother;  they  came  t(T  the 
office.  I think  her  extraordinarily  beautiful,  and  that  is 
why  I did  it.” 

Sam  looked  at  his  calm  face  with  a keenness  which 
was  mixed  with  admiration.  He  knew  he  could  not 
make  him  lie,  yet  there  was  something  inscrutable  in  his 
countenance  which  he  could  not  read.  It  wore  a mask 
of  marble. 

“ They  won’t  get  any  partners.” 

“ Tim  Jones  must  look  out  for  that.  There  are  differ- 
ent sets  of  people  here,  you  observe;  the  sang  azure 
would  not  cover  the  floor.”  * 

“Damn  your  French,”  said  Sam,  turning  on  his 
heel. 

Clarice  Lang,  in  a short  time,  defined  her  position. 

“ If  the  managers  ask  us  to  dance,”  she  said  to  Char- 
lotte, “ we  shall  not  have  made  a mistake  in  coming ; 
otherwise,  I shall  understand  Mr.  Parke  Auster’s  invita- 
tion.” 

“How,  Clarice?” 

“ He  is  pleased  to  make  an  experiment,  perhaps.” 

Charlotte  sighed. 


TWO  MEN. 


141 


“You  always  say  such  things.” 

“You  are  a fool.  Don’t  you  see  that  we  are  a card 
for  once  ? I have  no  doubt  but  that  Mr.  Auster  is  dar- 
ing enough ; he  shows  people  that  what  he  chooses  to 
do,  he  will  do.” 

“ Then  Mr.  Jones  is  daring,  too,”  said  Charlotte,  logi- 
cally. 

Clarice  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

Several  young  men  were  introduced,  and  begged  the 
pleasure  of  dancing  with  them.  Clarice  refused  coldly, 
and  Charlotte  declined  with  a gentle  grace. 

Philippa  was  amazed  at  Charlotte’s  beauty.  She 
thought  of  a time,  in  the  twilight  region  of  early  child- 
hood, when  she  had  heard  the  sound  of  the  lash  on 
shoulders  as  lovely  as  Charlotte’s,  perhaps ; at  any  rate, 
it  cut  the  flesh  of  her  race.  Suppose  she  were  tied  up 
to  a whipping-post  at  this  instant,  what  would  be  the 
tide  of  feeling  ? would  it  change  from  the  contemptuous 
coldness  now  shown  to  pity  and  protection  ? She  asked 
Parke  what  he  thought  of  her. 

“ I think  she  is  too  beautiful  to  be  lost  in  this  Sahara ; 
I pity  her  from  my  heart.  It  is  of  no  use  to  fight  with 
imbecility,  though  ; you  can  see  how  those  girls  are  re- 
ceived among  the  coarse  boobies  here.  I only  asked  to 
have  them  treated  like  human  beings.” 

“ Shall  I speak  to  them  ?” 

“ No,  it  is  not  best,”  he  said  quickly ; “ I would  rather 
not  have  you.  Ask  Sam  what  he  thinks  of  them,”  he 
added,  with  a laugh. 

He  danced  with  no  one  that  evening  except  Philippa. 
Several  times  he  addressed  a few  words  to  the  Langs. 
While  he  spoke,  Charlotte  continually  looked  at  him, 


142 


TWO  MEN. 


and  continually  averted  her  eyes  from  him,  and  he 
scarcely  appeared  to  see  her,  hut  he  felt  that  a sure, 
irresistible,  slow  current  was  setting  towards  her. 
There  was  one  fatal  dower  between  them ! Each  time 
that  he  left  them,  Clarice  instinctively  turned  to  Char- 
lotte and  eyed  her  sternly.  All  the  world  might  have 
heard  what  he  said;  but  Sam  Rogers  # watched  his 
mouth  as  the  words  fell  from  it,  as  if  they  had  been  rep- 
tiles he  would  have  strangled.  When  he  next  came 
across  Parke,  he  said,  in  a voice  whose  accent  of  ire  and 
derision  it  would  be  impossible  to  describe,  “ I wish  the 
yellow  cook  of  the  Unicorn  was  here ; I’d  introduce  him 
to  those  wenches.” 

44 Would  you?”  Parke  answered,  flipping  his  glove; 
44  how  good  of  you  !” 

Sam  went  to  Philippa. 

44 1 am  almost  sorry,”  he  said,  44  that  we  have  under- 
taken these  parties;  there  is  such  a mess  here — cabin 
and  forecastle  mixed.” 

44 1 am  sure  it  is  a success ; I never  saw  such  universal 
smiling  before.  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Sam? 
You  look  worried.” 

44 1 feel  like  a fish  out  of  water.  How  I hate  these 
gloves.  If  you  are  pleased,  it  is  all  right ; I was  afraid 
you  would  not  like  it.  Parke  is  as  headstrong  as  the 
devil ; look  at  him.” 

He  was  speaking  again  with  the  Langs,  who  had 
never  moved  from  the  seats  they  had  first  taken. 

44  Oh,  what  do  you  mean,  Sam  ?”  and  she  looked 
vexed ; 44  don’t  you  approve  of  his  noticing  those  poor 
girls  ?” 

44  Noticing — bah ! you  speak  of  him  as  if  he  were  a 


TWO  MEN. 


143 


lord,  going  round  among  his  vassals.  1 tell  you  candid- 
ly, Philippa,  if  he  does  go  to  hell  it  won’t  he  all  his 
fault.” 

She  hit  her  lips  with  furious  anger. 

“ You  are  a pretty  friend,”  she  said.  “ Why  not  let 
him  alone,  and  give  up  the  pretence  of  being  his  Men- 
tor?” m 

“ Philippa,  I am  nobody’s  friend  hut  yours ; I do  not 
consider  all  Crest  as  being  worth  the  snap  of  my  finger 
in  comparison  with  you.” 

“ Then  you  are  Parke’s  friend,  if  you  are  mine.” 

“ Bother  Parke !” 

He  looked  deeply  hurt. 

“ Forgive  me,  Sam,  hut  you  are  so  foolish.” 

“ Never  mind  about  my  forgiveness,  give  me  yours ; I 
think  I am  rather  foolish.”  And  he  looked  at  her  fondly 
and  pitifully,  cursing  himself  inwardly  for  expecting  her 
to  understand  him,  or  anybody  else,  and  promising  him- 
self to  immolate  his  opinions  and  acts,  in  just  the  way 
she  would  have  him.  Her  hand  crept  under  his,  and  if 
they  had  been  alone  she  would  probably  have  pulled  his 
hair,  or  pinched  him.  And  so  the  quarrel  ended. 

When  Sarah  heard  that  the  Langs  were  at  the  party 
she  gave  her  shrillest  laugh,  and  begged  Jason  to  learn 
to  dance.  Such  things  were  in  accordance  with  his 
ideas.  She  never  dreamed  that  Parke  was  the  means 
of  their  being  invited.  Not  the  slightest  uneasiness 
crossed  her  mind  as  to  the  place  they  might  attain ; she 
knew  the  pride  and  prejudice  of  the  most  humbly  bom 
of  Crest  too  well  for  that.  Had  she  known,  even,  that 
Parke  had  been  good-natured  enough  to  invite  them, 
she  would  have  felt  no  concern  beyond  ridicule;  the 


144 


TWO  MEN. 


spirit  of  society  was  too  strong  even  for  his  wilfulness 
to  go  beyond  a certain  point. 

The  next  evening  Parke  took  a walk  in  the  direction 
of  Mrs.  Lang’s  house.  His  splendid  dog  “Bruno”  went 
with  him,  and  when  they  came  opposite  her  windows, 
Parke  said  to  him,  “ Speak,  Bruno !”  A deep  yelp 
brought  Charlotte  to  the  window  of  an  unlighted  room. 
Man  and  dog  passed  slowly  along  and  repassed,  Bruno 
slouching  with  his  black  head  close  to  the  ground,  and 
Parke  firmly,  with  his  fair  face  upturned  to  the  window. 
He  saw  a curtain  move,  that  was  all ; but  it  made  his 
heart  knock  against  his  breast,  and  he  felt  his  will  rising 
imperiously. 


TWO  MEN. 


145 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Langs  made  no  second  appearance  at  the  cotillon 
parties.  At  the  next  Parke  zealously  danced  with  the 
prettiest  girls  in  the  room  till  ten  o’clock,  when  he  dis- 
appeared, and  returned  in  the  space  of  an  hour,  remark- 
ing, to  those  standing  near  the  entrance,  that  he  had  been 
taking  the  air  and  a cigar.  In  connection  with  these 
were  facts  which  he  did  not  mention.  He  went  to  the 
tavern  stable,  where  he  knew  there  were  saddled  horses 
which  belonged  to  some  of  the  party,  and  applied  to  an 
ostler  for  one,  telling  him  there  was  a mistake  about  a 
card  of  invitation  which  must  be  rectified  at  once.  He 
gave  the  man  a handful  of  cigars  as  he  made  the  request, 
and  in  a moment  a horse  was  led  out,  and  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Mrs.  Lang’s.  Arrived  there,  he  fastened  the 
horse  to  the  palings  of  the  little  yard,  ran  up  the  path, 
and  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  by  Mrs.  Lang, 
holding  a lamp,  and  shading  it  with  her  hand. 

“ Good-evening  to  you,’’  said  Parke. 

“ Good-evening,”  she  answered,  intent  on  keeping  the 
lamp  alight. 

u Are  your  daughters  at  home  ?” 

“Yes,  sir.  Here,  Clarice,  Charlotte.”  And  she  re- 
treated, placing  the  lamp  on  the  window-shelf  of  the  sit- 
ting-room, so  that  its  rays  fell  across  Parke  on  the  steps, 
glanced  down  the  path,  revealing  the  black  stalks  of  the 
hollyhocks,  and  the  dark  shape  of  the  horse  tied  to  the 
paling.  Clarice  came  out,  followed  by  Charlotte. 

13 


146 


T WO  MEN. 


“ I called,”  said  Parke,  in  a polite  voice,  “ to  inquire 
whether  there  was  any  mistake  in  your  card  of  invita- 
tion to-night.” 

“None  at  all,”  replied  Clarice;  “ we  decline  going.” 

She  turned  away  abruptly,  and  vanished,  but  Char- 
lotte lingered. 

“You  left  the  party  to  come  so  far  to  inquire?”  she 
said,  regretfully. 

“ It  was  my  business,  as  manager,  to  do  so.” 

“You  are  very  kind,  sir.” 

“ You  could  not  enjoy  yourself  much  the  other  even- 
ing, of  course.” 

“ Oh,  no !”  she  answered,  plaintively,  moving  forward, 
and  bringing  her  face  into  the  lamplight,  which  revealed 
its  pure,  fragile,  delicious  outlines. 

He  shivered  at  the  sudden  sight  so  palpably,  that,  to 
hide  it,  he  exclaimed  it  was  a cold  evening. 

“ Excuse  me  for  keeping  you.”  But,  instead  of  mak- 
ing a move  to  return,  she  took  another  step  forward.  “ I 
feel  the  cold,  too,  sir  ; the  change  in  the  climate  is  great ; 
there  is  nothing  warm  here.” 

“ Oh  yes  ! something.”  And  he  advanced  a step.  His 
silky  mustache  almost  touched  the  band  of  hair  that  fell 
low  down  her  face. 

“No,”  she  repeated,  “there  is  nothing  of  the  South 
here.” 

The  thought  of  Philippa  flashed  into  his  mind. 

“ I have  a cousin  from  the  South.” 

“ I saw  her,”  she  said,  disdainfully. 

“ I must  go ; I shall  be  missed.  Good-by.” 

“ Did  you  ride  up  here  ?”  she  asked,  discovering  the 
horse. 


TWO  MEN. 


147 


“ Yes.  Do  you  like  to  ride  ?” 

“ Very  much.” 

“ Some  time  will  you  ride  with  me  ?” 

“ Oh  yes  !”  And  sh<*  clapped  her  hands  with  delight. 

“You  will  see  me  soon,  then;  good-night.” 

“Why  did  you  stand  and  palaver  with  that  young 
man  ?”  asked  Clarice. 

“ Why  Clarice !” 

“ He  would  not  come  by  daylight.” 

“Yet  you  called  him  daring.” 

Mrs.  Lang  closed  the  hymn-book  she  had  been  reading, 
and  looked  first  at  Clarice  and  then  at  Charlotte. 

“ It  is  of  no  use,”  she  said,  “ for  you  to  fret  each  other ; 
give  it  up  so.  What  one  wants,  the  other  wouldn’t 
have.  I tell  you  to  make  the  best  of  every  thing.” 

“ The  best !”  said  Clarice,  with  contempt. 

“ Alive  or  dead,  you  will  stay  in  this  place.  Make  a 
way  if  you  can.  God  Almighty  kno  ws  I am  content.” 

“Mother,”  asked  Clarice,  “you  had  a white  hus- 
band.” 

“ Who  tole  you  so  ?”  she  answered,  with  an  inde- 
scribable grimace. 

“ I asked  you,”  screamed  Clarice. 

“ I brought  you  into  the  world,  you  are  my  chil’n — 
bone  of  my  bone,  flesh  of  my  flesh,  with  all  your  beau- 
ty.” 

“ That’s  the  curse  of  it.” 

“ Devil’s  brat,”  cried  her  mother,  “ your  father  will 
find  his  chile,  sooner  or  later.” 

Charlotte,  who  had  not  uttered  a word  during  the 
scene,  now  rose  and  put  out  the  light. 

“What’s  that  for?”  her  mother  asked. 


148 


TWO  MEN. 


“We  are  all  of  a color  now.” 

Mrs.  Lang  shrieked  with  laughter.  “ She  heat  you, 
Clarice ; she  do  always.” 

Charlotte  unbraided  her  long  hair,  which,  in  the  fire- 
light, even,  looked  silky  and  elastic,  cautioned  Clarice 
about  the  fire,  and  glided  from  the  room ; but  Clarice 
immediately  followed  her,  and  Mrs.  Lang  was  left 
alone. 

She  carefully  set  up  the  firebrands  against  the  jambs, 
squatted  on  the  hearth,  thrust  her  feet  in  the  hot  ashes, 
and  talked  to  herself,  breaking  into  a laugh  occasionally, 
and  checking  it  with  a “ Bless  de  Lord.”  Her  head 
dropped  on  her  knees,  and  she  slept,  till  a loud  dash  of 
rain  startled  her. 

11  Hi,  hi,  the  trade-wind  blows, 

Ha,  ha,  the  good  ship  goes!” 

she  sang,  feeling  about  the  fioor  for  the  shoes  she  had 
kicked  off,  to  put  on,  and  go  to  bed  properly  before 
“ dose  girls.” 


TWO  MEN. 


149 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

To  keep  up  with  the  improvements  in  Crest  made  in 
his  absence,  Sam  Rogers,  with  an  ivory  cane,  made  oc- 
casional excursions  about  the  town  and  suburbs.  Cross- 
ing a field,  one  gray  December  afternoon,  to  shorten  the 
distance  to  an  unfrequented  road  which  he  wished  to 
gain,  he  saw  a pair  of  horses  which  he  knew,  toiling  up 
the  hill,  and  stopped  behind  the  stone  wall  till  they 
reached  the  place  where  he  stood,  and  passed.  He  saw 
Parke  in  his  light  curricle,  and  Charlotte  Lang  beside 
him.  He  noticed  that  the  whip  was  in  its  rest,  and  that 
only  one  of  Parke’s  hands  was  employed  in  driving; 
the  reins  hung  loosely,  and  the  horses  went  to  one  side 
of  the  hill  and  then  to  the  other,  as  they  chose.  Sam 
looked  after  the  carriage  till  it  rolled  out  of  sight ; then 
he  sat  down  on  the  wall,  wiped  his  face  with  his  hand- 
kerchief, and  said  : “ Damned  strumpet — cursed  fool — 
coward — knave !”  He  sat  there  a long  time,  staring  at 
the  hill,  before  he  could  make  up  his  mind  what  plan  to 
follow. 

That  evening  he  made  the  tour  of  the  stores  where 
men  gathered  to  gossip  over  the  events  of  the  day,  and 
listened  to  them  with  jealous  attention,  but  heard  noth- 
mg  that  he  feared  and  half-expected  to  hear  concerning 
that  chain  of  circumstances — a link  of  which  he  had 
seen  that  afternoon.  The  next  morning  he  haunted  the 
bar-room  of  the  tavern,  the  stable,  the  ship-yards,  and 

13* 


150 


TWO  MEN. 


wharves,  and  made  several  calls  among  his  female  ac- 
quaintances, but  heard  no  mention  of  the  fact,  which 
was  nearly  breaking  his  heart.  On  all  sides  he  was  ac- 
costed with  raillery  for  his  rare  and  unexpected  appear- 
ance. “You  are  getting  tired  of  your  aristocratic 
friends,”  said  one ; and,  “ Have  you  had  too  much  of  the 
Austers?”  said  another;  and,  “We were  afraid  you  were 
going  to  give  up  us  and  whaling,”  said  a third.  To  all 
of  which  he  growled  expletives  more  forcible  than  ele- 
gant. On  his  way  home  he  met  Jason,  and,  suddenly 
wheeling  about,  walked  with  him.  Thrusting  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  he  fell  into  a deep  study.  Jason  was 
reminded  of  Mr.  Ritchings’s  vagaries,  and  wondered 
whether  Sam,  too,  had  not  fallen  a victim  to  the  same 
trouble.  He  made  no  effort  to  break  Sam’s  revery,  but 
walked  beyond  his  own  house,  and  would  have  walked 
still  farther,  if  Sam  had  not  suddenly  looked  up  and 
struck  him  on  the  shoulder. 

“How  are  you,  Jason?” 

I think,  Sam,  I am  better  than  you  are.” 

“ I vow  to  God,  I hope  you’ll  keep  so.” 

He  wheeled  round  suddenly,  left  Jason  without  an- 
other word,  and  went  home  to  his  dinner,  which  he  at- 
tacked with  an  absent-mindedness  that  amazed  and  dis- 
tressed his  mother. 

“You  eat,”  she  said,  “but  you  do  not  set  any  value 
on  your  food.  I thought  that  apple-pie  would  go  to  the 
right  place.  I put  cinnamon  in  it  on  purpose.” 

He  immediately  bit  a large  piece,  but  with  an  expres- 
sion which  by  no  means  satisfied  her. 

“ I do  believe  you  wish  you  were  off  to  sea  again,  and 
I am  no  better  than  the  pelican  in  the  wilderness.” 


TWO  MEN. 


151 


He  laughed  wildly. 

“ Any  neighbors  been  in  lately,  mother  ?” 

“ Mrs.  Jones,  Tim’s  mother,  was  here  yesterday,  after 
some  carpet-rags.” 

“ What  did  she  say  ?” 

“ She  was  so  bound  up  in  rags  she  couldn’t  think  of 
much  else.” 

“ A she  Lazarus.” 

“She  is  afflicted  with  a bad  humor,”  Mrs.  Rogers 
said,  solemnly. 

He  laughed  wildly  again,  and  she  declared  that  she 
shouldn’t  wonder  if  he  was  coming  down  with  the  can- 
ker-rash— it  was  about. 

“ The  Jones  family  live  near  those  Langs,  don’t  they  ?” 

“Yes,  the  Jones’s  house  is  the  nearest;  about  half  a 
mile  from  it.” 

“ She  did  not  mention  them,  I suppose  ?” 

“Well,  she  did  say  that-they  kept  themselves  to  them- 
selves, as  they  ought  to;  and  she  said,  too,  that  Mrs. 
Lang  always  washed  on  odd  days  of  the  week,  instead 
of  Monday.  She  must  have  queer  ways,  but  I believe 
she  is  regular  at  the  Baptist  meeting.” 

“ I thought  you  were  going  to  have  a tea-party  for 
me  ?” 

“ Law,  Sam,  I will  any  day.” 

“ Some  day  this  week  ?” 

“ Let  me  see,  to-day  is  Tuesday — well,  Friday,  say.” 

“ Who  shall  we  have — the  Austers.” 

“ And  Mr.  Ritchings,” 

“ Of  course.  Did  you  ever  ask  Elsa  Bowen  to  tea, 
mother  ?” 

“ Many’s  the  cup  of  hyson  she  and  me  have  had  to- 


152 


TWO  MEN. 


gether  in  years  gone  by.  What  a hand  with  sick  folks 
she  was  ! We  used  to  go  watching  together;  I always 
thought  she  was  all  the  more  lively  in  times  of  distress. 
She  never  goes  out  now,  and  I don’t  see  much  of  her.” 

“ She  never  will  forsake  the  Austers.” 

“Not  on  account  of  any  trouble  they  may  be  in,  for 
she  is  so  odd;  she  may  go  from  some  whim.  She  is 
proud  of  her  connection  with  them ; you  know  she  was 
second  cousin  to  Mrs.  Maria  Parke,  the  Squire’s  second 
wife.” 

“You  believe  one  person  is  as  good  as  another,  don’t 
you  ?” 

“ Pretty  much,  unless  they  are  Universalists.” 

“ I am  a Universalist.” 

“Don’t  let  anybody  know  it  in  Crest.  Take  your 
notions  of  salvation  to  the  natives,  if  you  want  to. 
Dear  me,  how  can  you  believe  that  the  wicked  ought 
to  be  saved  ?” 

It  seemed  as  if  her  discourse  soothed  him.  He  smoked 
several  pipes  while  she  ran  on,  and  his  countenance  as- 
sumed its  wonted  expression  of  tranquillity.  For  a mo- 
ment he  could  not  believe  in  the  reality  of  calamity. 
His  mother’s  placid  face,  the  tones  of  her  voice,  so  free 
from  anxiety,  denied  it  for  him.  He  remembered  that 
she  had  passed  through  trouble,  but  not  a vestige  re- 
mained. The  material  atmosphere  about  was  alone 
marked  with  permanence ; the  most  trivial  objects  out- 
lasted the  heaviest  affliction  the  heart  could  bear.  There 
were  the  brass  candlesticks  on  the  shelf,  which  had  been 
kept  bright  year  in  and  year  out,  in  the  face  of  disaster 
and  death  ; and  the  eight-day  clock,  with  its  dull,  enam- 
elled face  and  glit  top ; and  the  chair-cushions  of  broad- 


TWO  MEN. 


153 


cloth  patch-work  were  kept  in  their  old  place,  while  mil- 
lions of  men  had  gone  mad  with  trouble,  and  out  of  life. 
The  smell  of  the  old  wood-work,  the  light  from  the 
green  knots  in  the  old  window-glass,  the  nameless  sounds 
which  come  and  go  where  people  live,  which  were  asso- 
ciated in  his  mind  with  events  of  the  past,  and  had  sur- 
vived them,  assured  him  that  in  such  things  alone  existed 
perpetuity.  The  creaking  of  his  mother’s  old  chair,  in 
which  she  sat  rocking,  and  had  rocked  so  many  years, 
he  listened  to,  and  compared  it  without  emotion  to  the 
creaking  of  the  cordage  of  the  ship  which  went  down, 
carrying  with  her  his  shipmates,  and  leaving  him  with 
a solitary  boat,  on  just  such  a day  as  this,  when  there 
was  a long,  unbroken  swell  in  the  sea,  with  silvery  re- 
flections from  the  pale,  cold,  angry  sun.  What  did  the 
sea  know  of  that  event  to-day  ! The  gulls  dipped  into 
the  swell  with  their  gay  scream,  and  chased  each  other, 
with  wildly-flashing  wings,  over  its  gray  surface.  That 
was  all  he  remembered. 

Early  in  the  evening  he  went  to  Jason’s,  and  sat  down 
to  chess  with  Philippa.  There  was  an  unusual  bustle  in 
the  house,  owing  to  some  kitchen  anniversary.  Elsa 
made  frequent  inroads  into  the  parlor,  where  they  were, 
and  Sarah  frequent  exits  from  it.  Great  fires  were  burn- 
ing, and  lamps  were  alight  in  all  the  rooms.  The  atmos 
phere  was  exhilarating,  fixed,  secure,  and  Sam  could  not 
help  feeling  comforted.  As  the  evening  advanced  quiet 
settled  over  the  house.  Sarah,  fatigued,  rested  silently 
in  her  chair  by  the  fire.  Jason  sat  by  himself  over  the 
dining-room  fire,  with  his  feet  on  the  fender,  and  his  arms 
folded.  Parke  came  in,  and  with  a nod  to  Sam,  and  “How 
are  you,  shipmate?”  seated  himself  by  the  piano,  and 


154 


TWO  MEN. 


% 

played,  at  first,  a loud,  triumphant  march,  full  of  reiter- 
ated notes,  and  then  a waltz,  which  opened  with  a silvery 
trickle,  deepened  into  a wild,  rushing  flow — a chaos  of 
tumultuous,  broken,  whirling  foam,  and  ended  in  a vague, 
solemn,  unvarying  swell.  Sam’s  sensibilities,  excited 
again,  traced  the  spirit  of  the  waltz,  its  wild  cry  for  pos- 
session, its  unappeased  longings,  its  wail  of  satiety,  its 
necessity  for  the  eternal,  and  its  despair. 

Jason’s  pale  face  passed  the  door,  and  repassed. 

It  was  Philippa’s  turn  to  move,  but  the  game  had  stood 
still.  Sam  gave  the  board  a shake,  which  toppled  the 
chess-men  over,  with  noise  enough  to  rouse  Parke  from 
his  musical  dream.  He  left  the  piano.  Sam  furtively 
searched  his  face.  He  saw  only  the  same  tranquil,  win- 
ning beauty.  But  Parke’s  lids  drooped  over  his  eyes. 
Behind  lay  a world,  concerning  which  Milton  invoked 
the  heavenly  muse  to  sing, — 

•“  Of  man’s  first  disobedience.” 

Parke  drew  a chair  beside  his  mother’s.  He  smoothed 
her  glossy,  waving  hair,  turned  the  curls  over  his  fingers, 
asked  her  about  the  brooch  that  fastened  her  collar,  took 
her  hand,  and  feared  it  was  hardened  with  too  much 
work ; she  must  not  do  so  much  for  them  all.  She  met 
his  eyes  with  a smile,  and  he  looked  into  hers,  with  an 
expression  which  she  could  not  read,  because  for  her 
uthe  handwriting  on  the  wall”  was  never  visible.  The 
kind  mood  expanded  and  included  Philippa,  who  yielded 
to  his  irresistible  sway.  Could  she  have  understood  his 
face  and  manner,  there  was  that  in  them  which  would 
have  made  her  soul  quell  with  pain.  An  apprehensive 


TWO  MEN. 


155 


chill  struck  Sam.  He  felt  that  danger  emanated  from 
Parke’s  behavior.  It  betokened  the  wakefulness  of  a 
faculty  which  had  roused  all  the  other  faculties  into  play. 
It  betokened  a farewell  to  the  relations  between  him  and 
his  mother — Philippa — all ! A cowardly  fear  assailed 
him  lest  Parke  should  envelop  him  too,  and  then,  with  his 
infernal  candor,  show  him  the  sword  oscillating  over 
their  heads. 

“What  has  become  of  Jason?”  he  exclaimed,  starting 
up.  “ By-the-way,  I am  going  to  have  a tea-party.  Will 
you  all  come,  on  Friday?” 

“ Of  course,”  said  Sarah. 

“ Of  course,”  Parke  echoed,  dreamily. 

Sam  passed  quickly  into  the  room  where  Jason  was, 
instead  of  leaving  the  house  by  the  front  door,  and  spoke 
to  him,  listening  for  some  movement  from  Parke.  He 
had  gone  to  the  piano  again.  Relieved  from  his  fear, 
Sam  went  into  the  kitchen,  hoping  to  get  out  unobserved, 
but  Elsa  and  Mary  were  still  busy  there. 

He  walked  round  the  table  and  asked  Elsa  to  give  him 
something  to  take  home  to  eat — he  was  starved. 

“ Gracious,  Sam,  if  you  don’t  like  your  mother’s  cook- 
ing, I can’t  suit  you.” 

“ What’s  the  news  ?”  he  asked,  peering  into  her  acute 
face. 

“I  don’t  go  about  collecting  the  article.  Haven’t  you 
brought  some  ? You  look  wise.” 

“ Yes,  the  devil  isn’t  dead.” 

u Is  that  news  ? Here,  take  this  mince-pie,  and  clear 
out  with  your  devil.  Bury  him  if  you  can.” 

He  took  the  pie,  with  a laugh,  and  disappeared. 

“ He  is  bright,”  said  Elsa  to  herself,  “ and  good. 


156 


TWO  MEN. 


People  don’t  know  him  as  well  as  they  think  they  do. 
And  his  father  was  a stupid  man,  and  his  mother  is  a 
stupid  woman.” 


TWO  MEN. 


157 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Though  Mrs.  Rogers  delayed  tea  on  Friday  evening 
on  Parke’s  account,  lie  did  not  arrive  till  the  feast  was 
in  debris , and  the  company  withdrawn  from  the  tea-table 
to  the  parlor.  He  had  been  out  with  his  horses,  he  said, 
too  late,  though  the  weather  was  excuse  enough  for  driv- 
ing that  afternoon,  so  mild  and  soft  for  a winter’s  day. 
Had  anybody  noticed  the  sunset,  and  the  silver  mist 
that  wrapped  every  thing  in  its  vail,  he  asked.  At  Mrs. 
Rogers’s  request,  Philippa  came  back  to  the  table  to 
keep  him  company  while  she  was  gone  in  the  kitchen  pre- 
paring a hot  short-cake  for  him,  and  drawing  fresh  tea. 

“ How  pale  you  are,  Parke  !”  said  Philippa. 

“ Am  I ?”  he  said,  without  looking  at  her. 

“ Where  did  you  go  to-day  ?” 

“Up  by  Millville ; do  you  know  whether  father  was 
in  the  woods  to-day  ?” 

“ I believe  so.” 

“I  heard  his  dogs,  I was  sure.” 

He  folded  his  arms  on  the  table  and  hid  his  face  in 
them,  but  raised  it  instantly  and  stared  into  the  corner 
of  the  room. 

“I  thought,”  he  continued,  absently,  “that  they 
sounded  like  bloodhounds.” 

“ But  you  never  heard  bloodhounds.” 

“ Have  you?” 

“ Once.” 

“ Have  you  ?”  he  repeated,  without  having  heard  her, 
14 


158 


TWO  MEN. 


and  instantly  taking  a knife  from  the  table,  with  which 
he  struck  an  empty  glass  near  him,  he  endeavored  to 
modulate  the  tinkling  sound  into  a familiar  air  with  an 
appearance  of  profound  attention ; but  his  mind  was 
dwelling  with  rapt  fidelity  on  a new  and  terrible  joy  in 
his  possession.  The  secret  was  no  burden  now,  but  the 
source  of  a strange  pride,  which  made  him  consider  him- 
self apart  from  the  rest  of  the  world  by  the  right  it  had 
given  him. 

Philippa  was  moved  by  his  paleness,  lassitude,  and 
mysterious  excitement ; a protective,  pitying  feeling  im- 
pelled her  to  go  to  him,  put  her  arm  about  his  neck,  and 
kiss  his  cheek.  As  a city  falls  to  ruin,  with  its  pulse  in 
full  play,  in  the  embrace  of  an  earthquake — so  fell  his 
sin  into  the  depths  of  his  soul.  He  met  her  clear,  strong^ 
upholding  gaze,  because  he  would  meet  it ; because, 
come  what  might  to  him,  he  never  could  fail  to  meet  the 
eye  of  any  human  being  with  an  unflinching  daring  for 
the  truth.  But  a shadow  of  something  prophetic  fell  on 
him  ; the  loss  of  a beautiful  hope,  which  he  might  have 
felt.  To  her  it  seemed  as  if  her  touch  had  made  him  a 
statue,  he  was  so  motionless ; every  feature  was  set  in 
calmness,  only  his  eyes  were  wildly  dark.  Her  arm  fell 
from  his  neck,  and  she  turned  away,  repenting  of  the  first 
caress  she  had  ever  given  him. 

Happily,  Mrs.  Rogers  bustled  in  with  the  fresh  tea. 
She  begged  Philippa  to  attend,  to  his  wants,  for  she  only 
just  wanted  to  take  out  the  tea-cups — she  shouldn’t  wash 
them — and,  with  a pile  in  her  hands,  she  disappeared 
again.  Philippa  poured  the  tea,  which  he  took  silently 
and  drank  slowly ; but  he  ate  nothing.  When  had  he 
heard  from  Theresa,  she  asked,  to  break  the  silence. 


TWO  MEN. 


159 


That  very  day  he  had  received  a letter,  which  he  sorted 
out  of  some  papers,  and  gave  her,  with  44  There’s  nothing 
in  it.” 

44  When  shall  I visit  her?”  she  asked. 

44  Before  long;  anytime.” 

44  How  long  do  you  intend  this  meal  shall  last  ?”  asked 
Sam,  thrusting  his  head  in  at  the  door.  “I  must  smoke 
a pipe.” 

44  Come  in,  old  fellow,”  said  Parke ; 44  I’ll  smoke  with 
you.” 

Sam  filled  his  pipe  from  a box  on  the  mantel-shelf,  and 
was  soon  absorbed ; and  Parke,  taking  a cigar  from  his 
case,  lighted  it,  and  fell  to  talking  on  the  subject  of 
Sam’s  next  voyage.  So  pertinent  were  his  questions  and 
remarks  relating  to  it,  that  Sam  was  drawn  out  complete- 
ly, and  gave  descriptions  of  sea-life,  to  which  Parke 
added  information  so  entertaining  that  Philippa  was  ob- 
livious of  the  parlor,  till  recalled  by  an  ill-humored  re- 
proof from  Sarah.  He  had  made  himself  so  pleasant, 
that  Sam,  in  a generous  moment,  accepted  the  excuse  he 
offered  for  going  home  without  appearing  before  the  vis- 
itors. A plunge  into  the  long,  black  night  was  what  he 
most  desired — 44  a sleep,  and  a forgetting.” 

It  was  hours,  however,  before  he  slept.  His  sagacity 
stood  in  the  way  of  repose.  His  relation  with  the  world 
— meaning  Crest— must  be  changed,  sooner  or  later.  He 
had  lost  Theresa.  A barrier  was  raised  between  him 
and  Philippa  which  she  would  never  cross.  Of  his 
mother  he  did  not  think ; he  had  been  so  trained  that 
the  consequences  of  his  wishes  and  will  never  struck  him 
as  involving  any  thing  of  her  but  her  compliance.  But 
— he  had  gained  Charlotte. 


160 


TWO. MEN. 


That  evening  Charlotte  Lang  found  the  house  de- 
serted on  her  return  from  her  ride  with  Parke;  her 
mother  and  sister  had  gone  to  the  evening  meeting  of 
the  Baptist  society  which  Mrs.  Lang  had  joined,  and 
which  was  in  the  progress  of  a revival.  Charlotte  did 
not  light  a lamp,  but  put  away  her  bonnet,  folded  her 
shawl,  and  crept  to  bed  in  the  dark.  Did  the  angels  of 
Pity  and  Patience  guard  that  bed  ? Or  waited  a demon 
there,  to  behold  the  spectacle  of  dead  chastity  in  a love- 
ly shrine  ? Who  will  summon  either  to  pass  judgment 
upon  a drama  in  which  they  were  neither  actors  nor 
spectators ! 

Ignorant,  confiding,  weak,  poisoned  with  ancestral 
blood,  none  shall  judge  thee,  Charlotte — but  God! 

Her  thoughts  were  intent  upon  Parke  alone.  To-day 
he  had  been  hers ; to-morrow  he  would  be  hers.  Moth- 
er, and  Clarice,  and  the  people  in  Crest — he  could  keep 
them  all  away.  Half  stifled  in  her  exquisite  hair,  what 
dreams  came  to  her ! She  heard  again  the  baying  of 
dogs  along  the  woody  road,  the  rustling  of  footsteps 
among  the  leaves,  the  murmur  of  a sweet,  muffled  voice. 
The  gray  dusk  crept  round  her,  and  the  silver  mist,  and 
the  breath  of  love : not  a false,  selfish,  cruel  love,  but  the 
love  for  life,  till  death ; sweet,  kind,  tender  love ; forget- 
ting ail,  meaning  all, — but  distrust,  disgust,  satiety. 


TWO  MEN. 


161 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  winter  passed.  Xo  shock  or  jar  deranged  the 
machinery  which  society  keeps  in  running  order,  and 
which  sometimes  runs  over  society,  crushing,  tearing, 
mutilating  it.  Even  Sam  Rogers  nodded  in  the  vicinity 
of  its  wheels,  and  Parke  trifled  with  its  cogs  and  springs, 
playing  a desperate  game,  to  test  it.  Early  in  the  spring, 
the  owners  of  the  ship  Hesper  offered  a captain’s  berth 
to  Sam  Rogers,  for  an  Arctic  voyage,  which  he  accepted, 
and  prepared  to  sail.  The  cotillon  parties  ended  in 
February,  but  a grand  ball  was  projected  by  Parke, 
which  included  Sam  in  his  managerial  capacity.  It  was 
postponed  several  weeks,  on  account  of  the  severity  of 
the  weather.  Spring  arrived,  with  snow,  gales,  and 
rain.  As  soon  as  the  sun  softened  the  roads  into  decent 
travelling,  the  night  for  the  ball  was  appointed.  Every- 
body had  been  dull  before,  but  now  Crest  was  astir.  A 
thin  blueness  stole  up  the  sky,  and  tinged  the  bay, 
whose  waters,  released  from  the  bondage  of  ice,  danced 
upon  the  shore  in  chopping  billows  and  hissing  foam. 
The  pools,  which  had  stood  in  the  fields  and  ditches, 
sank  through  the  mats  of  dead  grass,  and  the  frogs  be- 
gan to  croak  in  a circle  round  the  town.  Garden  paths 
grew  smooth,  and  garden  patches  mellow,  in  anticipation 
of  the  burst  of  leaf  and  bud.  Elsa  said  the  weather 
had  been  so  bad,  that  she  wondered  why  the  Lord  hadn’t 
started  a grove  of  Ingy-rubber  trees,  so  that  people 
14* 


162 


TWO  MEN. 


might  have  the  stuff  for  shoes  at  hand,  to  paddle  in  the 
water  with.  It  was  the  way  things  went  in  this  world ; 
she  supposed  that  the  trees  grew  where  it  never  rained 
nor  snowed.  Jason  remarked  that  he  was  sorry  to  have 
Nature  lay  down  her  arms ; he  liked  the  music  of  her 
bands  better  than  the  fiddles  and  horns  at  the  hall.  It 
was  a pity,  she  said,  that  he  had  not  been  born  a wild 
Mohammedan,  so  that  he  might  have  trained  as  he 
pleased,  and  nobody  been  the  wiser  for  it. 

“ After  the  ball,  Philippa,”  said  Parke,  “ we  will  visit 
Theresa.” 

“ After  the  ball,”  Sam  commented,  “ I shall  be  off, 
thank  God,  in  the  Hesper .” 

“After  the  ball,”  hoped  Mr.  Ritchings,  “something 
of  the  old  time  may  come  back.” 

“ The  ball  is  nothing  to  us,  Charlotte,”  said  Clarice 
Lang.  “ Our  privileges  are  the  same.” 

“ The  same,”  Charlotte  replied,  with  a conscious  smile ; 
“it  makes  no  difference  whatever  to  him.” 

“ Him ,”  said  Clarice  angrily ; “ I wish  he  would  not 
come  this  way  so/>ften.  Have  you  but  one  thought?” 

“ When  was  he  here  ?”  Charlotte  asked,  too  willing  to 
talk  on  the  dangerous  subject. 

“ I believe  he  comes  when  we  are  away ; I know  it, 
you  poor,  silly  fool ; he  amuses  himself  by  showing  you 
attention.” 

“ Mind  your  own  business,  Clarice,”  said  Mrs.  Lang, 
looking  inquisitively  at  Charlotte.  “ It  is  for  you  to 
attend  to  the  concerns  of  your  soul.” 

“ Pooh,  I go  to  meeting  to  kill  time.  What  is  the  use 
of  my  soul  to  me?  No  more  than  my  body  is.  Both 
are  worthless.” 


TWO  MEN. 


163 


Charlotte  looked  at  Clarice  with  such  an  expression 
of  denial  and  doubt,  intelligence  and  superiority,  that 
her  mother,  who  was  still  observing  her,  shook  her  head 
so  violently  that  she  attracted  a wondering  attention 
from  Clarice,  who  asked  her  if  she  wasn’t  flared. 

“ Stay  at  home,  then,  you  abominable,”  Mrs.  Lang 
cried. 

“ No,”  said  Clarice  firmly,  “I  wish  to  keep  out  of  the 
way.” 

“ Dear  me,”  exclaimed  Charlotte  peevishly,  “ what 
way  ?” 

“For  all  me,  he  shall  have  full  swing;  when  some 
other  whim  takes  his  idle  brains,  I’ll  give  up  religion, 
as  you  have,  and  bear  your  whining  and  pining  till  you 
get  over  it.  A little  of  you  will  suffice  his  vanity.” 

“We  get  over  every  thing,  we  do,”  said  Mrs.  Lang, 
giving  to  the  winds  whatever  secret  thought  might  have 
disturbed  her.  Kicking  off  her  shoes,  as^she  always  did 
in  moments  of  excitement,  she  broke  out  with  a souvenir 
of  the  plantation  : — 

“ Pull  up  de  yam  two  feet  long; 

Eat  up  de  yam  two  feet  long ; 

For  de  massa  wants  us  strong; 

What  he  wants  is  nebber  wrong. 

Clarice  cursed  her,  and  Charlotte  cried  bitterly. 

The  ball  made  a difference  to  them  all.  It  opened 
the  door  of  discovery.  Two  of  its  guests,  from  a town 
below  Crest,  named  Clark  and  Cook,  made  themselves 
obnoxious  to  Sam  Rogers  in  the  early  part  of  the  even- 
ing, by  telling  him  they  were  on  the  look-out  for  a hand- 
some girl,  with  a streak  of  black,  named  Lang.  “ She 
may  be  coming,”  said  Mr.  Clark,  “ as  she  keeps  com- 


164 


TWO  MEN. 


pany  with  the  manager,  young  Auster;  we  have  seen 
them  in  our  village  several  times.  I can’t  say  as  I 
blame  him;  she  is  as  pretty  as  a pink.  Ain’t  they 
talked  about  here  ?” 

“ What  will  you  take  to  drink?”  Sam  asked  abrupt- 
ly, longing  to  knock  him  down ; “ there’s  something  be- 
low.” 

“What  will  you  take,  Cook?”  asked  Clark,  dubi- 
ously. 

“ Oh,  any  thing  that’s  round ; beer,  cider,  lemonade, 
or  switchel.” 

“ Switchel  be  damned !”  cried  Sam ; “ come  dowm 
stairs.” 

If  those  fellows  were  only  on  board  his  ship,  he 
thought,  he’d  truss  them  by  the  throat  with  a clew-line. 

They  were  ushered  by  him  into  a small  room  at  the 
back  of  the  hall,  where,  on  a table,  stood  a candle,  a few 
tumblers,  a sugar-bowl,  and  a bottle  that  was  empty. 

“ Somebody  has  availed  himself  of  all  the  opportuni- 
ty,” Sam  said.  “ Excuse  me  a few  minutes,  I’ll  bring 
up  a supply.” 

Clark  and  Cook  begged  him  to  take  his  time  Miss 
Lucy — they  liked  a chance  to  cool  off,  and  he  started  on 
a run  for  Jason’s. 

“ There’s  no  watered  liquor  there,”  he  muttered  ; “ I 
must  chisel  some  brandy  out  of  Elsa,  and  drink  those 
blackguards  drunk.” 

He  reached  a back  door  breathless,  and  entering  on 
tiptoe,  listened  at  the  kitchen  door — there  was  no  sound 
within ; of  course  Elsa  had  gone  to  bed  ! He  must  have 
the  brandy,  however ; so  he  crept  up  the  kitchen  stairs, 
opened  the  doors  of  several  dark  rooms,  and  at  last 


TWO  MEN. 


165 


opened  the  door  of  her  room.  She  had  on  her  night- 
cap, and  was  reading  aloud  in  the  Bible  when  he  en- 
tered, “ Or  the  golden  bowl  be — ” 

“ Broken,”  he  said. 

“ What  are  you  conjuring  about  here  for?”  she  asked, 
surveying  him  with  composure ; “ to  read  my  Bible,  and 
repent  of  your  sins,  sir  ?” 

“ Elsa,  I want  a bottle  of  that  old  Cognac ; quick, 
they  sell  poison  at  the  tavern,  you  know.” 

“ What  do  you  want  of  it  ?” 

“ I’ve  got  a case  at  the  hall — a brace  of  strangers, 
who  will  have  liquor.” 

“You  needn’t  come  here  with  your  braces;  however, 
I’ll  ask  Sarah.” 

“No,  no — don’t  torment  me;  I am  in  earnest.” 

She  was  out  of  the  room  with  her  candle,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  uncertain  where  to  find  it. 

“ It  is  up  garret,  in  a demijohn.” 

“ I’ll  go  for  it.” 

“No — it  is  down  cellar,  in  a jug.” 

“ Give  me  the  candle ; you  are  enough  to  make  the 
parson  swear.” 

“ There’s  a bottle  in  the  buttery ; now,  I recollect 
Sarah  opened  it  yesterday,  to  give  old  Mr.  Weaver  a 
gill.  Now,  old  Mr.  Weaver” — and  she  stopped  short. 

“Mr.  Weaver  wove  a yarn  as  long  as  yours,  which 
will  be  cut  short,  mam.”  He  put  his  arm  round  her 
waist,  lifted  her  feet  from  the  floor,  and  carried  her 
down  into  the  buttery,  where,  after  some  exploration, 
the  bottle  was  found. 

“Much  obliged,  Elsa,  we’ll  drink  your  health,”  he 
said,  hurrying  out. 


166 


TWO  MEN. 


“I  shouldn't  wonder,”  she  soliloquized,  on  her  way 
back,  “ if  he  should  look  upon  the  wine  that  is  red.  His 
father  drank  more  than  any  man  of  his  age  in  Crest ; he 
was  full  from  morning  till  night.” 

“ Shall  I mix  your  grog,  gentlemen  ?”  he  asked,  re- 
entering the  room  where  Clark  and  Cook  sat  drumming 
on  the  table,  keeping  time  with  the  band  overhead. 
Looking  at  each  other,  they  said  they  didn’t  think  they 
needed  it  strong — they  were  not  used  to  it — but  that 
they  might  be  as  well  hanged  for  a sheep  as  a lamb,  and 
he  might.  He  poured  brandy  enough  in  each  glass  to 
make  a green  hand  madly  drunk,  mixed  much  sugar  in 
it,  and  handed  it  to  them.  It  was  taken  with  “ my  re- 
spects,” and  winking  eyes,  together  with  a declaration 
that  it  was  “ first-rate  swipes.” 

“ Now  for  a jig,”  exclaimed  Sam,  with  an  air  of  high 
satisfaction. 

“Jig  it  is,  and  with  the  beauties,  ^y’you  please.” 

Partners  were  found  for  them,  and  places  in  the 
dance.  Sam  stood  in  the  vicinity,  to  watch  for  the  first 
symptoms  of  intoxication,  for  drunkenness  in  the  ball- 
room should  be  put  down  with  a high  hand.  The  heat 
of  the  room,  the  noise  and  the  motion,  he  calculated 
could  not  be  borne  many  minutes.  But  to  his  surprise, 
when  the  quadrille  was  over,  they  came  to  him,  and 
asked  how  the  bottle  stood. 

“Where  we  left  it;  come,  try  luck  again.” 

“ If  it  is  all  the  same  to  you.” 

The  dose  was  increased  and  repeated ; its  effect  was 
sudden.  Sam  immediately  proposed  going  over  the 
way  to  the  tavern,  to  have  a smoke.  An  assent  with  a 
hooray  was  given,  and  without  hat  or  overcoat  the  party 


TWO  MEN. 


167 


rushed  over,  and  Sam  piloted  the  way  into  an  empty 
room. 

“Norr  cigars,”  said  Mr.  Clark,  who  felt  poorly  in  his 
head;  “something  strong — fetch  on  pipes  and  some 
niggerhead.” 

“ Exactly,”  said  Sam,  locking  them  in  as  he  went  out, 
and  returning  in  a moment. 

“ Speaking  of  niggerhead,”  remarked  Mr.  Cook,  who 
had  seated  himself  on  two  chairs,  and  was  poising  his 
head  on  the  sharp  slat  of  a third,  “ Where  is  that  Lang 
girl  ? I didn’t  see  young  Auster  round,  either — taking 
a walk  in  the  suburbs,  maybe.” 

“ Let  it  all  out,  you  white-livered  son  of  a gun,”  said 
Sam,  furiously.  “ What  do  you  mean  ?’: 

“ ’Mong  frens,  you  know,”  said  Mr.  Clark,  placably. 

“ By  George,”  answered  Mr.  Cook,  “ you  had  better 
be  milder,  it  would  be  good  for  you.  Your  town  will 
have  news  soon  that  will  run  like  wild  fire,  and  your 
sprig,  Auster,  with  his  dam  airs,  will  have  a hyst.” 

“ Dam,”  Mr.  Clark  uttered. 

Mr.  Cook  bent  forward  and  whispered  in  Sam’s  ear, 
lost  his  balance,  and  fell  on  the  floor,  where  he  went  to 
sleep.  Sam  looked  at  Mr.  Clark,  who  was  trying  to 
smoke  a pipe  with  the  bowl  downward,  and  vainly 
igniting  Lucifer  matches  on  his  boot-soles,  his  cuffs,  his 
knees,  and  the  carpet. 

“ You’ll  do,”  said  Sam. 

“We’ll  do,”  replied  Mr.  Clark.  “ n gor,  thank  you 
— you’ll  do  to-morrow.” 

Before  noon  the  next  day,  despite  Sam’s  precaution, 
an  intangible  rumor  spread  over  town.  It  was  not 
traced  to  any  particular  source,  no  one  dared  to  meddle 


168 


TWO  MEN 


with  it  at  first,  but  Rumor  is  an  “ insane  root  ” — once 
partaken  of,  its  madness  grows.  From  “Have  you 
heard  ?”  the  step  was'  taken  which  confirmed  the  truth 
of  the  connection  between  Parke  and  Charlotte.  In 
common  with  every  soul  in  Cfcest,  with  the  exception  of 
the  Auster  family,  Sam  heard  all  the  gossip.  Parke 
fluster’s  good  name  bit  the  dust.  The  most  grovelling 
details  accompanied  the  descriptions  of  Charlotte  Lang’s 
beauty  and  gentle  manners.  If  the  blow  had  fallen — as 
the  feeling  and  the  tongjie  of  the  public  would,  in  the 
first  flush  of  detection,  have  had  it  fall — on  the  family,  it 
would  have  crushed  Sarah  and  Philippa,  but  tongue  and 
feeling  were  soon  exhausted,  and  the  family  were  still 
in  ignorance.  Sam  went  to  Jason’s  every  day  with  the 
heart  of  a culprit.  He  looked  into  the  faces  of  each  one 
for  some  inspiration  to  direct  hint  what  course  to  pur- 
sue— how  to  temper  the  awful  fact.  None  came.  The 
Hesper  demanded  his  time,  was  the  excuse  he  gave  for 
making  his  visits  so  short,  and  for  avoiding  Parke.  But 
one  evening,  when  Philippa  had  begged  him  for  a fare- 
well game  of  chess,  they  met. 

“ Your  last  games  ?”  asked  Parke. 

“ Yes,”  Sam  answered. 

“ I have  half  a mind  to  go  on  the  voyage  with  you.” 

“ Better  stay  here.” 

The  tone  of  his  voice  was  so  significant,  that  Parke 
went  round  to  the  back  of  Philippa’s  chair  and  mutely 
interrogated  him.  He  returned  the  look  with  one  elo- 
quent with  contempt. 

Parke  quietly  took  a chair  near  him,  and  waited  till 
the  game  was  finished,  and  he  had  risen  to  go.  When 
the  outside  door  was  reached,  Parke  laid  his  hand  on  the 


TWO  MEN. 


169 


latch,  stood  before  him,  and  said,  “ You  have  heard 
something.” 

“ Let  me  pass,”  demanded  Sam,  with  a husky  voice ; 
“ let  me  pass,  or — ” 

“No,  it  won’t  be  worse  with  me  if  you  stay.  Sam, 
you  know  it  all.” 

“Ido.” 

“ I imagine  the  town  knows  it.” 

“ Everybody.” 

“ Do  they  know,”  he  spoke  with  an  accent  that  made 
Sam’s  blood  run  cold,  “that  I shall  marry  Charlotte 
Lang  ?” 

“Now  by  God,  Parke,  you  shall  not  do  it!  You 
must  not,  cannot  do  it ! Nature  is  against  it — the  whole 
I'ace !” 

“ I am  a little  old  fashioned,  Sam ; she  is  the  mother 
of  my  child,  Parke  Auster’s  child  ! Has  the  town  men- 
tioned that  fact  yet  ?” 

His  tone  of  self-disgust,  resolution,  dogged  daring,  and 
his  air  of  painful  ennui , blase , suffering,  are  not  to  be  de- 
scribed. 

“ I — I’ll  see  you  to-morrow ; there’s  a man  waiting 
for  me  now,  about  a chronometer.  Good-by.  How 
could  you  ? If  she  hadn’t  been — damme,  give  me  your 
hand !” 

Parke  was  crying  now  like  a baby  in  Sam’s  arms.  He 
wiped  his  own  eyes,  moved  from  one  foot  to  the  other, 
swore  at  the  world,  and  every  thing  in  it,  and  finally  led 
Parke  into  his  room,  and  sat  up  the  whole  night  with 
him. 


15 


170 


TWO  MEN. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Elsa  was  looking  for  clothes-pins  that  had  strayed  in 
the  greensward  at  the  upper  end  of  the  orchard,  the 
next  morning,  when  she  saw  Mrs.  Rogers  nodding  to  her 
to  come  up  to  the  fence,  the  boundary  between  the  road 
where  she  was  walking  and  the  orchard. 

u I am  just  passing  along,”  said  Mrs.  Rogers.  “How 
be  you  these  days,  Elsa  Bowen  ?” 

“ I am  so  as  to  be  able  to  look  after  the  odds  and  ends ; 
how  have  you  been,  Betsy?  I haven’t  set  eyes  on  you 
this  winter.” 

“ As  tough  as  a pine  knot,  or  I couldn’t  stand  what  I 
am  obleeged  to.  Why  don’t  you  go  out  once  in  a while, 
and  keep  up  with  what’s  a-going  ? You  might  be  aston- 
ished sometimes  at  what  you’d  see  and  hear.” 

“ See  fools,  and  hear  clack.” 

“ It  isn’t  always  clack,  though  I am  not  svfre  about  the 
fools.” 

“ What’s  in  the  wind  now  ?” 

“ I do  suppose  your  folks  have  heard  nothing  about 
themselves,  have  they  ? I do  wish  Mr.  Ritchings  had 
spoken  to  Jason  before  now.” 

“ What  is  it,  for  mercy’s  sake?” 

“ Charlotte  Lang,  you  know — ” 

Elsa  stooped  suddenly,  and  clutched  a clothes-pin, 
bringing  up  with  it  a handful  of  grass. 


TWO  MEN. 


171 


“And  Parke— they  say  there’s  something  wrong  be- 
tween them.” 

“It  is  a vile  lie.  Who  says  so  ? Where  are  they  who 
say  it  ?” 

“ETow,  Elsa,  it  is  no  use;  the  whole  town  knows  it. 
Sam  knows  it — he  told  me  last  night — and  he  said, 
‘ God  help  Philippa.’  ” 

“ God  help  his  mother.  What  is  it  to  Philippa  ? It 
can’t  he  so,  Betsy.” 

But  Mrs.  Rogers  convinced  her  that  it  was  so,  by  re- 
lating all  the  particulars,  and  concluded  with,  “That 
girl  ought  to  be  drummed  out  of  town.” 

“ The  hussy !” 

“ You  have  got  to  tell  the  family;  nobody  can  do  it 
better.  There,  don’t  take  on  so.  I knew  you  would, 
you  faithful,  attached  creetur;  perhaps  all  of  it  isn’t 
true,  after  all.  I knew  I must  tell  you.  Providence 
sent  you  out  this  morning  for  clothes-pins,  and  me  to  buy 
blue  yarn,  so  that  we  might  meet.  I didn’t  see  my  way 
clear  at  first ; I thought  of  going  to  Sarah.  I’d  rather 
face  the  cannon’s  mouth  than  her.  She’ll  die,  or  she’ll 
carry  it  off  with  the  high  Parke  hand.  Didn’t  my  old 
man  know  what  that  was — steel  springs  covered  with 
satin;  though  I must  say  Sarah  ain’t  so  smooth.  You 
ain’t  offended  with  me,  Elsa,  for  throwing  such  a burden 
on  you  ? ’Tis  time  something  happened — you  ought  to 
be  expecting  it ; think  how  long  the  family  have  pros- 
pered every  way.  I must  be  getting  along.  Do  take 
something  when  you  go  in.  Think  of  my  Sam’s  going 
into  icebergs  for  four  year.” 

“ Sam  is  a credit  to  you,  Betsy,”  said  Elsa,  with  a 
strong  effort  to  resume  her  natural  manner. 


172 


TWO  MEN. 


“But  he  is  a man.  You  can’t  trust  one,  you  know. 
You  never  can  guess  the  moment  he  will  fail  you,  and 
never  the  one  he  won’t.” 

Elsa’s  search  in  the  grass  continued  a few  minutes  after 
Mrs.  Rogers  Had  passed  on,  but  she  saw  nothing  there ; 
her  thoughts  were  fixed  on  the  task  before  her.  There 
was  no  avoiding  it.  Parke’s  death  she  could  communi- 
cate, but  to  be  the  bearer  of  such  tidings  put  her  to  her 
trumps.  She  vowed  never  to  be  in  such  a scrape  again ; 
she  would  keep  her  eyes  open  for  the  future.  She  must 
be  getting  forgetful  and  stupid,  or  she  would  have  been 
on  the  look-out  for  his  sowing  his  wild  oats.  Yes ; if 
ever  the  shadow  of  what  must  be  called  living  trouble 
fell  on  the  family  again,  she  should  cut  and  run.  She 
was  willing,  if  need  be,  to  bury  every  one  of  them ; but 
she  could  not  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of  disgrace  and 
misery. 

“Though  the  day  of  judgment  is  at  hand,”  she  con- 
cluded, “ dinner  must  be  seen  to,  cooked,  and  eaten.” 
And  she  went  back  to  the  house.  Every  thing  through 
the  morning  was  finished  in  her  thorough,  methodical 
manner,  but  she  was  inwardly  debating  how  she  should 
begin  her  story,  and  with  whom.  Once  her  heart  failed 
her.  It  was  when  Sarah  came  into  the  kitchen  to  show 
her  the  new-fashioned  plaits  in  the  bosom  of  some  shirts 
she  was  making  for  Parke. 

“What  if  I should  not  say  a word  about  it?”  Elsa 
asked  herself,  with  her  eyes  raised  above  her  spectacles, 
examining  the  work.  “ It  might  blow  over  in  time,  and 
finally  come  to  her  ears  like  a spent  storm.  But  no; 
some  blundering  booby  would  give  them  all  a shock,  and 
they  would  expose  themselves  to  the  public.” 


TWO  MEN.  173 

“ Very  handsome,  indeed,  Sarah,”  she  said,  aloud,  “but 
a great  deal  of  trouble.” 

“I  don’t  mind  that  for  him,  you  know.” 

Here  was  a chance ! Elsa  wet  her  lips,  caught  her 
breath,  and — allowed  Sarah  to  go  out  without  speaking 
a word. 

“That  villain,  Parke,”  she  exclaimed,  “he  ought  to  be 
sent  to  State’s  prison — sentenced  to  hard  labor  for  his 
lifetime.  It  all  comes  from  his  having  nothing  to  do. 
How  could  he  help  having  riches  left  to  him,  though? 
How  could  he  help  taking  after  one  or  two  of  his  rela- 
tions? Poor  boy!”  And  she  cried  to  herself  softly, 
wiping  the  tears  away  under  her  glasses  as  fast  as  they 
came,  till  Jason’s  entrance  interrupted  their  flow.  He 
took  a seat  in  the  corner  of  the  hearth,  and  lighted  a 
cigar,  which  Elsa  thought  was  just  the  thing  to  forward 
her  purpose.  Taking  a basket  from  the  window-shelf, 
she  sat  down  near  him,  and  began  to  sort  its  contents 
and  study  his  aspect,  and  the  probable  effect  upon  him 
‘of  what  she  was  about  to  say.  It  never  struck  her  till 
now  how  stern  and  upright  a look  he  wore.  There  was 
a certain  hard,  cool  air  about  him,  which  convinced  her 
that  he  would  go  and  knock  Parke  down,  as  soon  as  he 
had  heard  her  story.  She  instinctively  penetrated  his 
view  of  the  case,  which  would  be  to  side  with  Charlotte 
Lang.  He  would  take  her  wrongs  into  full  consideration. 
That  would  be  awful.  Still,  she  must  trust  to  his  sense, 
which  was  the  best  she  knew  of. 

“ Have  you  been  round  to  the  stores  this  morning  ?” 
she  asked. 

“What  upon  earth  should  I go  to  the  stores  for,  unless 
sent  by  you  on  some  small  errand  ?” 

• 13* 


TWO  MEN. 


174 

“ You  might  hear  something,  you  know.” 

Her  trepidation  was  painful.  She  thought  he  would 
comprehend  instantly  something  of  the  truth,  and  it  was 
a great  relief  to  hear  him  answer  : “ Elsa,  what  do  I want 
to  hear  the  gab  of  the  stores  for  ?” 

u I know  you  don’t.”  And  she  laughed  almost  hysteri- 
cally. It  was  impossible  for  her  to  tell  him. 

“ I have  been  on  board  the  Ilesper , though.  She  hauled 
down  the  bay  early  this  morning.  I can’t  imagine  why 
I didn’t  take  to  the  sea.” 

“ It  is  too  late  now.  Are  you  tired  of  comfort,  Jason  ?” 

“ Comfort  is  tedious  when  it  lasts  too  long.” 

At  that  instant  Gilbert  called  Jason  away,  and  Elsa 
was  glad  of  it.  At  dinner  she  lingered  with  Sarah  over 
a cup  of  tea,  when  the  rest  had  left  the  table  and  gone. 

“ Sarah  Auster,”  she  exclaimed  suddenly,  “you  are 
nothing  but  skin  and  bone ! You  must  take  medicine. 
The  least  wind  would  blow  you  away.” 

“ It’s  my  business  whether  I am  skin  and  bone  or  not,” 
she  replied  crossly.  a I am  well  enough,  and  shan’t  take 
medicine.” 

“ Oh,  very  well.  I don’t  recommend  any  thing  at  all ; 
but  you  are  sick,  you  know  you  are.” 

The  clatter  of  dishes  which  Elsa  rather  resentfully 
made,  drove  Sarah  from  the  table,  and  Elsa  remarked  to 
herself  that  perhaps  their  sorrows  had  only  just  begun. 
Something  certainly  ailed  Sarah,  and  none  of  them  had 
perceived  it.  She  took  a desperate  resolve,  and  went  to 
Philippa’s  room,  and  found  her  embroidering  a cushion. 

“Philippa  Luce,  you  might  as  well  know  it  as  any- 
body.” 


TWO  MEF.  _ 175 

“ Tell  me,  then,”  replied  Philippa,  calmly  sticking  her 
needle  in  the  canvas. 

“Mrs.  Rogers  told  me  this  morning  that  Sam  told  her 
last  night  that  it  was  all  true.  It  is  all  over  town — every- 
body knows  it.” 

“ I don’t  know  it  yet.” 

Elsa  turned  her  back  to  Philippa,  and  began  to  dust 
the  shelf  with  her  apron. 

“ Charlotte  Lang  has  made  mischief.” 

“ Well,”  said  Philippa,  rising  like  an  automaton. 

Still  dusting  the  articles  on  the  shelf,  Elsa  told  the  tale. 
Philippa  was  so  still  that  she  turned  to  look  at  her.  She 
was  chewing  a bit  of  silk  floss,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  floor. 

“And,”  continued  Elsa ;uyou  have  got  to  tell  Jason 
and  Sarah.” 

“ Never.” 

“ Oh  Lord,  Philippa!” 

“ I never  will  speak  of  it  to  one  human  being — unless 
it  be  to  Parke,  or,”  she  added,  with  a frightful  hauteur, 
“ to  that  slave.” 

“Yes,”  cried  Elsa,  “she  is  Parke’s  slave,  and  you 
know  it.  But  whose  slave  will  be  Parke’s  child,  with 
your  blood  in  its  veins  ?” 

“ That  will  do,”  said  Philippa,  shuddering  with  disgust. 

“No,  it  won’t  do,  Philly;  don’t  feel  so.  Don’t  you 
know  human  nature  ?” 

“ No.”  And  she  looked  away  from  Elsa,  out  of  the 
window.  The  world  seemed  stretching  round  her  a 
wide,  flat,  lonely  plain,  over  which  she  must  plod  by  her- 
self, for  she  had  no  “human  nature”  like  this.  An  acute 
vision  of  Parke’s  abandonment  to  a wild,  isolated  happi- 


176 


TWO  MEN. 


ness,  such  as  she  knew  he  could  enjoy,  passed  before  her 
mind,  and  for  an  instant  she  felt  his  utter  separation  from 
her.  But  not  even  this  glimpse  into  the  abyss  of  passion 
suggested  the  idea  of  renouncing  him.  It  created  a bar- 
rier against  her  which  filled  her  soul  with  hatred,  but  not 
with  despair. 

“We  are  punished  for  human  nature,  though,”  said 
Elsa;  “and  what  will  his  punishment  be?” 

“ In  what  he  makes  me  suffer.” 

“ Oh,”  exclaimed  Elsa,  ironically}  “it  will  be  no  injury 
to  his  mother,  of  course.  And  the  pride  of  the  Parkes 
won’t  be  taken  down  in  Crest!  The  last  of  them  has 
exceeded  all  the  evil-doers  of  the  name.” 

Philippa  had  not  thought  of  Sarah.  She  had  thought 
of  no  one  besides  herself.  But  now  she  asked  what  Jason 
would  do. 

“ He  won’t  have  a breach  of  promise  case,  I assure 
you.” 

With  an  inward  trembling  Philippa  resumed  her  em- 
broidery, and,  like  Imogen, 

“Pricked  her  fingers  every  stitch, 

And  left  in  every  bud  a stain.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ?” 

“ Enough  said,  at  present,”  she  answered,  in  a loud, 
cheery  voice.  “ I’ve  got  plenty  to  do,  and  I’ll  go  and 
do  it.  I’ll  wash  my  hands,  just  now,  of  everybody’s 
business  but  my  own.” 

Philippa  threw  down  her  work,  and  with  locked 
hands  and  a rigid  face  turned  the  matter  over  in  her 
mind.  She  determined  to  show  no  emotion  before  Jason 
and  Sarah,  let  come  what  would.  Neither  for  any  one, 


TWO  MEN. 


177 


nor  in  any  cause  which  pertained  to  that  unhappy  affair, 
would  she  change  one  habit,  intention,  or  plan.  She 
was  somewhat  shaken  when  she  went  down  stairs  and 
met  Parke  in  the  hall,  and  exclaimed  involuntarily,  “ I 
know  it  all — you — ” 

His  hand  was  on  her  mouth. 

“ Hot  a word  shall  pass  between  us,”  he  said.  “ Never, 
Philippa.  Cross  the  gulf  in  silence,  or  let  it  be  impas- 
sable.” 

The  nervous  pressure  of  his  hand  against  her  mouth 
subdued  her ; she  stood  still  and  dumb,  with  her  eyes 
averted.  His  hand  fell,  and  he  bent  forward  to  look  at 
her ; the  sight  gave  him  a curious  sensation  of  pain  and 
surprise.  She  was  evidently  in  an  inward  fury ; he  no- 
ticed her  strange  eyes — the  spots  in  them  seemed  alive 
— her  scarlet,  burning  lips,  and  her  waving,  vivid  hair ; 
he  thought  of  the  “Sphinx”  again,  and  wondered  if 
Theresa  would  not  give  her  the  name  of  Pythoness, 
now~. 

“I  am  going  to  Theresa,  to-morrow,”  he  said,  gently. 

A faintness  came  over  her,  which  she  struggled 
against.  She  grew  so  pale  that  he  extended  his  arm  to 
catch  her,  but  she  caught  hold  of  the  balusters  for  a 
support,  and  then  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  so  full  of 
mad  resolution  and  defiance  that  he  forgot  it  was  Phil- 
ippa. 

“ Say  adieu,”  he  said  haughtily,  “ and  kiss  me.” 

She  struck  him  so  violently  in  the  face  that  he  was 
blinded,  and  could  not  see  her  as  she  ran  up  stairs 
again. 

While  he  was  gone  on  his  visit  to  Theresa,  Sam 
Rogers  sailed  on  his  voyage  to  the  Arctic  seas.  It  was 


178 


TWO  MEN. 


between  daylight  and  dark  that  he  went  to  Jason’s  to 
say  farewell,  the  day  before  his  departure.  He  hoped 
no  lamps  would  be  lit ; he  would  rather  not  see  their 
conscious  faces,  for  he  supposed  that  Jason  had  heard 
the  truth.  After  a hurried  chat,  he  rose  to  shake 
hands. 

“ I have  got  to  row  off  in  a hurry,  after  all.  Shall  I 
bring  you  an  Esquimaux  waiting-maid,  Philippa,  or  a 
reindeer  ?” 

Their  hands  were  grasped  tightly,  there  was  no  need 
of  words. 

“ You’ll  never  see  me  again,”  said  Elsa,  half  jocosely, 
half  sorrowfully ; “ I am  going  to  step  out.” 

“ Who  will  step  in  your  shoes,  Elsa  ?” 

“ Oh,  plenty.” 

“ Elsa  wants  to  be  coaxed  to  live,”  said  Sarah. 

“ Live,  I entreat  you,”  he  begged,  and  bending  over 
her,  whispered  a few  words  in  her  ear. 

“ I promise,”  she  answered. 

Sarah  took  his  hands  in  hers,  and  looked  at  him  sadly. 

“ Four  years  is  a long  time,  Sam ; but  I do  not  know 
that  we  should  doubt  them,  any  more  than  we  doubt  to- 
day. I am  truly  soxTy  to  lose  you.” 

“ God  bless  you,  Mrs.  Auster.  All  hands,  good-by. 
I shall  meet  Jason  outside.”  And  waving  his  hat,  he 
dashed  out.  Philippa  had  already  disappeared.  As  the 
gate  swung  to  after  him,  he  saw  her  standing  under  the 
firs,  in  the  corner  he  must  pass.  There  was  too  much 
light  still  for  him  to  escape,  or  he  would  have  rushed 
by,  feigning  not  to  see  her. 

“You  sent  no  message  to  Parke,”  she  said,  quietly, 
when  he  reached  her. 


TWO  MEN. 


179 


“ Oh,”  he  answered,  carelessly,  “ I said  my  last  words 
to  him.” 

“ Will  you  send  your  love  to  him  ?” 

“ My  love  isn’t  worth  sending  to  man  nor  woman.” 

“You  lie,  Sam;  it  is  worth  sending  to  both.” 

“Hal  you  begin  to  appreciate  my  immense  good-  » 
ness.” 

“May  I tell  Parke,  I ask,  that  you  sent  him  your 
love?” 

u Tell  him  what  you  please.  Give  me  one  kiss,  Phil- 
ippa ?” 

She  stood  on  tiptoe  and  met  his  lips ; then  tapped  him 
on  the  shoulder,  with  a nod,  which  sent  him  on  his  way 
smiling  and  sighing. 


180 


TWO  MEN. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Within  sight  of  the  Hesperus  sails,  as  she  bore  down 
the  bay  next  morning,  Philippa  started  on  a walk,  in 
the  hope  of  finding  something  on  the  earth,  or  in  the 
air,  to  culminate  or  dissipate  her  mood.  Charlotte  Lang 
also  wandered  forth  aimlessly,  and  they  met  in  a cross- 
road, beyond  the  town,  which  was  bordered  on  both 
sides  by  a thicket,  bursting  into  leaf,  and  alive  with  the 
songs  of  birds.  Charlotte  was  gathering  violets  along 
the  edge  of  the  thicket  when  Philippa  saw  her. 

“ She  can  think  of  flowers,”  Philippa  observed. 

“There  comes  Philippa  Luce,”  thought  Charlotte, 
bending  close  to  the  ground.  Philippa  stopped  in  the 
path,  like  a soldier  ordered  to  halt. 

“ What  are  you  doing  ?”  she  called. 

Charlotte  turned,  and  held  up  a handful  of  violets ; 
her  hair,  blown  about  her  face,  her  languid,  wistful 
eyes,  the  faint  color  rising  in  her  cheeks — she  was  the 
picture  of  a sad,  lovely  Innocence.  “Will  you  have 
them  ?”  she  asked,  in  a singularly  melodious  voice,  with 
a childish  treble  in  its  accent,  slowly  approaching.  Phil- 
ippa’s eyes  so  filled  with  dazzling  beams  that  crashed 
down  from  her  brain,  that  for  a moment  Charlotte 
looked  a dark,  vague  shape,  whose  coming  overpowered 
her  with  hate  and  horror;  but  when  she  saw  more 
clearly,  and  saw  the  composure  with  which  Charlotte 
stood  before  her,  an  irritation  like  madness  possessed 
her. 


TWO  MEN. 


181 


“ What  do  yon  mean  ?”  she  asked,  harshly. 

“ You  spoke  to  me,  and  I answered.” 

“ I would  have  died  first,”  said  Philippa,  incoherently, 
and  stamping  her  foot  with  a measured  thud  on  the 
ground.  “ Do  you  know  the  misery  you  have  made  ?” 

Charlotte  looked  at  her  earnestly : “ You  would  have 
died.  I wanted  to  live.” 

The  maddening  vision  of  a happiness  which  she  had 
had  no  part  in,  and  could  have  no  part  in  with  Parke , 
again  rose  before  Philippa’s  mind. 

The  violets  fell  to  the  ground  one  by  one. 

“Could  you  ‘live’  no  other  way  than  by  going  out 
of  your  place  ? You  are  not  his  equal.” 

“ That  is  your  way  of  thinking,”  Charlotte  answered 
with  a sullen  frown.  “ He  came  after  me,  remember.  I 
never  asked  any  thing  of  him.  I never  shall.  Why 
didn’t  you  keep  away  from  me  ?” 

Philippa  turned  scarlet  from  the  most  womanly  feel- 
ing she  ever  had. 

“ But,”  continued  Charlotte,  “ I act  according  to  his 
wishes.  He  governs  me.” 

“ Insensible,  heartless,  beastly  African  !” 

Limpid  tears  dropped  from  Charlotte’s  eyes,  as  pure 
as  the  fresh  violets  at  her  feet. 

“ Oh,  where  is  he  ?”  she  moaned. 

A sound  of  wheels  made  them  look  round,  a chaise 
was  coming  down  the  road,  with  Sarah  in  it,  who  was 
returning  from  some  business  concerning  the  Dorcas  So- 
ciety : the  floor  of  the  chaise  was  covered  with  bundles 
of  work,  and  Gilbert  was  driving  it.  His  quick  eye 
caught  sight  of  the  girls,  and  he  tried  to  pass  before  Sa- 
rah could  discover  them. 

16 


182 


TWO  MEN. 


“ Is  n’t  that  Mrs.  Lang’s  girl  ?”  she  asked.  “ What 
can  Philippa  he  speaking  to  her  for  ?” 

“ I bleeve  so,”  he  answered  adroitly,  tickling  the  horse 
to  make  it  jump,  and  it  went  by  the  girls  on  the  leap. 
“ Peers  to  me  that’s  Mr.  Auster’s  boat,  off  the  ledge 
there ; do  you  s’pose  he  is  coming  back  from  the  Hes- 
jyer,  marm  ? Do  tell  me  if  you  see  her  sails  yet,  bearing 
off  the  light  ? I see  Mrs.  Rogers  about  an  hour  ago ; 
her  eyes  were  bunged  up  with  crying.” 

She  stretched  her  head  to  follow  the  motion  of  the 
boat,  and  Gilbert  said  to  himself  that  they  had  had  a 
pretty  close  shave  of  it  to  ride  by  that  danger. 

Charlotte  exchanged  glances  with  Philippa  when  she 
recognized  Sarah,  and  an  expression  of  painful  dismay 
passed  over  her  face. 

“ I wish,”  she  cried,  “ that  I might  never  set  eyes  on 
any  of  you  again.” 

“Amen.” 

“ I wish  he  would  take  me,  and  go  with  me  to  the 
everglades.” 

“ Wish  to  be  dead,”  said  Philippa  sternly. 

“I  won’t,”  she  answered,  with  a pretty,  petulant 
shrug  ; “ you  needn’t  think  it.  I am  strong  enough  to 
bear  every  thing.  But” — with  an  assumption  of  dignity 
— “I  forgive  you,  Miss  Luce,  for  your  wish.  Why, 
what  is  the  chaise  coming  back  for?” 

Philippa  surmised  the  fact  that  Gilbert  had  been  sent 
to  bring  her  home.  He  reined  the  horse  beside  her  with 
so  careless  and  contemptuous  a disregard  for  Charlotte’s 
place  in  the  path,  that  the  wheels  grazed  her  dress ; she 
was  not  mindful  of  his  sneering  face,  for  she  was  observ- 
ing the  horse — an  old  friend.  One  more  effectual  word 


TWO  MEN. 


183 


Philippa  longed  to  say,  which,  through  Charlotte,  might 
pierce  Parke  like  an  arrow  and  cut  like  a sword ; but 
it  was  an  emergency  she  had  no  weapons  for.  She 
parted  from  her  without  even  a last  look. 

“ Dear  me,”  said  Gilbert,  shaken  from  his  stolidity 
and  respectful  reserve;  “ things  have  come  to  such  a 
pretty  pass  that  I think  we  might  as  well  shut  up  shop 
to  our  house — give  up  the  ghost  and  call  it  square.  I 
haven’t  got  the  leastest  mite  of  ambition  or  courage  left 
in  me.  To  this  day  Mrs.  Auster  hasn’t  found  it  out. 
What’s  to  be  done  ? It  must  not  go  on  so.  Are  they 
going  to  be  allowed  to  carry  on  so,  Miss  Philippa,  and 
the  family  not  know  it  ? God  bless  me,  you  know  it. 
I presume  that  gal  was  making  complaint  to  you.” 

“ Hush,  Gilbert,”  said  Philippa,  much  distressed. 
“Wait;  something  will  be  done.  You  must  not  put 
your  mind  upon  it  so.” 

“ Yery  well,”  he  answered,  with  dignity.  “We  are 
all  demeaning  ourselves  by  going  on  in  this  way.” 

It  was  as  bitter  a moment  as  she  had  endured.  Gil- 
bert was  right,  but  his  making  common  cause  with  her 
as  a matter  of  principle,  was  most  galling  to  her  pride. 
She  felt  that  he  had  made  himself  the  mouth-piece  of  the 
sense  and  the  rights  of  a moral  community,  and  her  soul 
rebelled  against  it ; she  would,  if  possible,  so  isolate  her 
family  from  its  influence  and  opinions,  that  even  their 
vices  should  not  be  meddled  with. 

Parke  came  home  that  day  with  the  dash  and  flavor 
of  travel  about  him.  At  the  tea-table  he  gave  a lively 
account  of  his  meeting  with  a college  chum  who  had 
just  returned  from  Germany.  His  recapitulation  of  the 
stories  of  German  life  was  so  entertaining,  he  so  thor- 


184 


TWO  MEN. 


oughly  entered  into  their  spirit,  that  Philippa  felt  as  if 
the  old  atmosphere  was  obliterated.  He  was  a spectacle 
to  Elsa,  who  every  moment,  since  her  interview  with  Mrs. 
Rogers,  considered  herself  as  walking  over  a volcano. 
“ There’s  something  more  than  human  in  him,”  she 
thought ; “ nothing  will  beat  him  down.” 

44  I wish  we  could  stay  in  Germany,”  said  Philippa 
absently. 

44  By  the  way,”  exclaimed  Sarah,  44  what  were  you 
saying  to  Charlotte  Lang  this  morning  ?” 

Philippa  made  no  answer,  but  fixed  her  eyes  upon 
Parke,  who  suddenly  felt  in  his  pocket  for  his  handker- 
chief. Elsa  glided  from  the  room  without  a sound,  and 
stationed  herself  before  the  door  to  prevent  ingress. 

44  The  time  has  come — I saw  it  in  Philippa’s  eyes,  and 
now  Master  Parke  is  going  to  walk  on  the  edge  of  the 
burning  ploughshare.”  She  spoke,  unconsciously  tuck- 
ing up  her  wristbands,  as  if  she  contemplated  being 
called  upon  to  participate  in  the  melee  when  it  should 
be  at  its  height. 

An  ominous  silence  prevailed  at  the  table.  Sarah,  as- 
tonished at  Philippa’s  not  readying  to  her,  looked  up, 
and,  following  the  direction  of  her  gaze,  saw  that  in 
Parke’s  face  and  manner  which  startled  and  perplexed 
her;  but  Jason,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  divined 
some  evil  he  would  rather  not  know  of;  he  rose,  and 
opened  the  door  to  find  Elsa  pacing  to  and  fro  before  it 
like  a sentinel.  She  waved  him  back,  and  pushed  the 
door  against  him  so  resolutely  that  he  turned  and 
dropped  into  a chair  beside  it.  Philippa’s  eyes  were  still 
fixed  on  Parke  with  a growing  light,  which,  to  him, 
seemed  to  spread  over  all  the  room ; but  he  bore  her 


TWO  MEN. 


185 


gaze  like  a man,  and  it  clinched  the  purpose  he  had 
brooded  over. 

“ Mother,”  he  said,  at  last,  “ what  could  Philippa  have 
to  say  to  her  ? Imagine  ?” 

“ Tell  me,  my  son,  I can’t,”  she  entreated,  in  a stifled 
voice,  for  she  felt  appalled  at  Philippa’s  face. 

“ It  is  probable  that  she  reproached  her ; the  virtuous 
woman,  you  know,  is  not  only  so  for  herself,  but  for  the 
whole  sex.” 

“ Charlotte  Lang  is — what  then  ?”  asked  Sarah,  her 
nostrils  white  and  rigid. 

“ What  she  is,  mother,  I have  made  her ; ancf,  as  her 
cup  of  disgrace  is  full,  so  is  mine,  and  I shall  drink 
it.” 

Jason  sprang  from  his  chair,  with  a deep  oath,  and 
stood  beside  him  like  a tower. 

“ To  the  dregs,  sir,”  he  said. 

“ You  understand  me.  Would  you  like  to  strike 
me  ?” 

“It  is  too  late,”  he  answered,  regarding  Philippa 
mournfully ; but  she  would  not  meet  his  eyes,  and  turned 
her  head  from  him. 

“ What’s  too  late  ?”  snapped  Sarah. 

Parke  put  a cigar  in  his  mouth  without  lighting  it, 
and  twisted  it  apart,  and,  after  a moment,  said : “ I do 
not  pretend  to  give  an  account  of  myself.  I do  not 
know  what  I expected  to  do  in  the  beginning  of  this 
business ; so  far,  perhaps,  I have  done  just  as  other  men 
do  ; but,  mother,  I am  going  to  marry  Charlotte  Lang. 
Not  a word  against  it.  You  may  call  it  dregs,  or  honor, 
or  obstinacy,  or  love.  It  must  be.” 

Sarah  literally  obeyed  him ; her  composure  was  so 
16* 


186 


TWO  MEN. 


strange  that  Parke  lost  his  presence  of  mind.  He 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and  sobbed  like  a 
woman,  and  her  eyes  followed  him,  rolling  in  her  head, 
as  if  that  had  been  turned  to  stone.  He  threw  himself 
on  his  knees  before  her,  and  buried  his  face  in  the  folds 
of  her  dress. 

“ Don’t,”  she  said,  in  the  voice  of  one  waking  from  a 
dream ; “ lift  up  your  face,  I am  your  mother — not  Phil- 
ippa, not  Jason — I forgive  you.” 

“No,  mother,  I do  not  ask  that;  but  I have  killed 
you.” 

“ Philippa,”  she  cried,  angrily,  “ have  you  no  feeling  ? 
What  passes  through  your  mind  ?” 

“Sarah,”  said  Jason,  in  a voice  of  thunder,  “let  my 
daughter  alone.” 

“ Eh,”  she  uttered,  with  a smile  at  Parke,  as  if  there 
had  just  been  effected  a tacit  bargain,  which  divided  him 
and  Philippa  with  Jason  and  herself — Parke  was  hers  ! 

Philippa  did  not  heed  what  was  passing.  She  was 
trying  to  analyze  her  own  personality,  which  seemed  to 
be  so  worthless  a thing  to  others,  and  of  so  much  value 
to  herself,  that  out  of  it  she  had  built  a great,  strong  ed- 
ifice, which  had  just  fallen  into  a ruin.  Parke  raised  his 
tear-stained  face,  and  again  Sarah  addressed  Philippa. 

“ Go  to  Mrs.  Rogers  for  me,  will  you,  and  ask  her  if 
1 she  will  come  over  to-morrow?  She  must  be  lonesome 
wdthout  Sam.  Go  quick  !”  she  ordered,  with  rising  irri- 
tation ; “ it  is  late.” 

Philippa  rose  slowly,  and  left  the  room.  Jason  went 
out  by  another  door  immediately,  and  confronted  Elsa. 

“Well?”  she  said. 

“ How  long  have  you  known  this  ?” 


TWO  MEN. 


187 


“A  few  days.  Money  will  settle  it.” 

“No.” 

“ What  will,  you  foolish  man  ?” 

“He  is  going  to  marry  her.” 

“Cat’s-foot,  Jason;  you  are  as  mad  as  a March  hare 
to  let  him  do  it.  Make  him  wait  a while,  and  he  will 
give  it  up ; he  is  remorseful,  now,  and  frightened.” 

“Not  frightened;  he  is  brave,  Elsa.” 

“You  can’t  affirm  that  you  believe  he  ought  to  marry 
her !” 

“ Don’t  ask  me,  I don’t  know.  Keep  your  eye  on 
Sarah  ; she  has  had  an  awful  blow.” 

“ Yes,  the  hardest  one.” 

Breaking  away  from  her,  he  wandered  far  away  that 
night,  and  the  burden  of  his  fhoughts  was : “It  was  the 
deed  of  my  own  son ; but,  of  all  men,  I should  forgive 
him.” 


188 


TWO  MEN. 


CHAPTER  XX I Y. 

A cool  note  from  Parke  announced  to  Mr.  Ritchings 
his  wedding-day,  and  engaged  him  to  perform  the  cere- 
mony in  his  study,  on  a certain  evening.  When  he  re- 
ceived the  application,  which  from  his  position  he  could 
not  refuse,  he  fell  into  a revery,  which  was  ended  by  his 
taking  his  hat,  walking  over  to  Jason’s,  and  asking  for 
Philippa.  He  half  expected  to  feel  some  shock,  to  see 
some  change,  when  she  entered  the  room,  but  her  im- 
passive countenance  was  *the  same.  She  met  his  con- 
scious manner  with  one  so  imperturbable,  that  he  would 
have  felt  disconcerted  if  he  had  not  come  with  a pur- 
pose nothing  could  shake.  He  carefully  reviewed  the 
period  of  their  past  acquaintance,  and  then  made  her  an 
offer  of  his  future,  promising  to  consecrate  it  to  her  hap- 
piness. She  declined  it.  He  made  a resolute  attempt 
at  reasoning  with  her,  but  she  remained  obstinately 
silent.  He*set  before  her  his  ideas  of  the  basis  of  a true 
marriage,  and  she  merely  smiled  in  an  absent  way,  as  if 
her  thoughts  were  elsewhere.  He  left  with  a burning 
heart,  and  an  un desired  sense  of  freedom.  It  was  cer- 
tainly all  over  between  them  now,  and  the  world  was 
all  before  him  to  teach  him  how  to  love  anew.  When 
he  woke  the  next  morning  he  felt  the  loss  of  his  forlorn 
hope,  and  started  upon  his  duties,  cold  and  spiritless. 
Even  Philippa  felt  the  end  of  an  episode  which  connect- 
ed her  with  love,  in  one  heart,  at  least.  For  a moment 


TWO  MEN. 


189 


she  was  mindful  of  the  generosity  which  prompted  Mr. 
Ritchings  to  come  to  her  when  under  the  cloud  of  dis- 
grace ; hut  she  forgot  it,  to  count  the  days  to  Parke’s 
wedding,  for  Mr.  Ritchings  had  told  her  of  the  appoint- 
ment. She  wondered  why  he  waited  a day; — there 
could  he  no  hridal  array  for  Charlotte ! How  would 
they  look  side  hy  side,  he  holding  her  hand  and  she 
his,  in  the  what-God-hath-joined-together-let-no-man-put- 
asunder  hond  ? The  bond  of  perpetuation ! What 
would  her  father,  Osmond  Luce,  have  said  had  he  been 
present  in  the  family  conclave  when  Parke  declared  his 
resolve ! She  blushed  at  the  thought  that  he  might 
have  laughed  at  their  feeble  resistance — their  patient 
yielding  to  his  will.  Perhaps  had  her  father  been  there 
he  might  have  influenced  him ; she  recalled  the  incident 
of  their  mutual  fondness  when  she  first  came  to  Crest, 
of  Parke’s  clinging  to  him  and  begging  him  to  return — 
while  she  sat  aloof,  silent,  and  neglected.  That  they 
were  something  alike,  she  reflected  for  the  first  time ; 
she  had  never  dreamed  of  thwarting  or  disputing  her 
father’s  will ; — how  should  she  have  been  so  infatuated 
as  to  imagine  she  could  bend  and  subdue  Parke  ? 

After  the  day  was  appointed  for  the  marriage,  Jason 
and  Parke  were  closeted  for  several  days.  During  that 
time  Parke  made  his  will,  but  asked  Jason  not  to  read  it, 
who  was  so  troubled  at  the  fact  that  he  informed  Phil- 
ippa, not  daring  to  tell  Sarah. 

“ If  he  has  made  his  will  he  is  going  away,”  she 
said. 

“ That  is  it ; why  did  I not  think  of  it  ?” 

She  rejoiced  in  the  idea  : “He  would  never  think  of 
living  with  Charlotte  Lang  !” 


190 


TWO  MEN. 


“ He  will  be  a wanderer,”  continued  Jason,  sadly,  “ all 
his  life.” 

“ It  is  far  better  so,  Jason.” 

“ I cannot  believe  it ; why  do  you  think  so  ?” 

She  hesitated,  and  he  saw  into  her  feelings. 

“ Shame  on  your  want  of  generosity,  Philippa  ! Are 
not  your  own  feelings  deep  enough  for  him  for  you  to 
have  some  mercy  on  hers  ?” 

“ I have  no  mercy  on  her'  miserable  weakness.” 

“ I believe,”  he  said  simply,  “ that  I shall  end  in  ha- 
ting your  sex.” 

“ Oh  no ; for  I shall  stay  here  always  with  you.  And 
you  cannot  shake  me  off.” 

His  expression  changed. 

“ I have  no  hope  of  your  happiness  here — but  you  are 
so  young  yet.  Could  you  really  have  been  my  daugh- 
ter, the  idea  of  a lifetime  in  this  atmosphere  would  be  a 
different  one  to  you.” 

“ There’s  nothing  of  the  Bedouin  in  my  composition. 
I could  not  be  happy,  I think,  to  go  from  home  under 
any  circumstances.  I am  like  lichen — a thin  crust,  but 
a permanent  one.” 

aBut  you  will  accompany  Parke.  Your  soul  and  the 
soul  of  his  mother  will  grow  round  him  wherever  he  is  ; 
and  if  you  do  not  know  where  he  is,  you  will  have  an 
imaginary  tabernacle  for  him,  where  your  brightest, 
best  self  will  centre.” 

How  strangely  he  was  speaking  of  their  following 
Parke ! Had  he  no  interest  in  him  ? she  thought.  But 
had  it  not  been  so  always  ? She  could  look  back  now 
to  years  of  indifference  on  Jason’s  part. 

“I  don’t  know,”  she  answered  thoughtfully,  “ how 


TWO  MEN. 


191 


much  my  soul  could  gather  round  any  thing  foreign  to 
Crest.  When  I say  Crest,  I mean  our  own  surround- 
ings, you  know ; lately  my  vision  narrows  to  these 
walls,  our  acres,  each  rock  and  tree,  the  sea  before  the 
house,  the  sky  over  it.  Nothing  else  can  contain  me.” 

Her  words  seemed  a promise  to  Jason;  his  thoughts 
sped  down  the  vista  of  future  years,  and  he  saw  her  be- 
side him  ever,  and  all  the  powers  she  had  spoken  of  har- 
moniously arranged  in  his  life.  An  hour  afterwards,  he 
found  Sarah  in  her  room,  holding  her  head  in  her  hands. 
He  observed  her  strange,  opaque,  yellow  paleness,  and 
asked  her  if  she  was  ill. 

“Not  well,”  she  replied. 

“Would  she  have  any  assistance?” 

“ Nothing.” 

It  was  so  evident  to  him,  however,  that  she  was  ill, 
that  he  grew  anxious  and  impatient.  He  moved  about 
softly,  in  the  hope  of  attracting  her  attention;  then  he 
pushed  the  chairs,  folded  up  her  work  on  the  table, 
piled  the  books  together,  rustled  the  papers — all  to  no 
purpose.  She  was  motionless,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  vacancy.  At  last  he  went  out  and  returned  with 
Elsa.  In  his  absence  Sarah  had  put  her  hands  over  her 
eyes.  Elsa  shook  her  finger  at  him  as  she  said, 

“ Sarah,  you  feel  poorly  to-day.” 

“ I have  no  heart  to  set  those  things  to  rights  that  we 
spoke  of  last  night.” 

“ Never  mind  that ; what  shall  I get  you  ?” 

No  answer  came  from  her. 

“ Do  go  to  bed.” 

“ To-morrow.” 

Elsa  beckoned  Jason  out  of  the  room. 


192 


TWO  MEN. 


44  Now.  Jason,”  she  said  in  a lively  voice,  44  yon  needn’t 
worry  because  I say  so — but  Sarah  is  coming  down  with 
a fit  of  sickness.” 

A feeling  of  every  thing’s  falling  in  upon  itself  to  ut- 
ter ruin  oj^pressed  him.  Chaos  and  night  would  come, 
should  Sarah  go. 

44  Better  get  things  in  order,”  she  continued ; 44  Gil- 
bert has  been  wanting  you  this  hour.” 

Hurrying  back  to  Sarah,  as  he  mechanically  obeyed 
her  suggestion,  she  felt  her  head,  hands,  and  feet, 
without  discomposing  her. 

44  Sarah,  you  ought  to  go  to  bed;  Jason  is  wor- 
ried.” 

She  refused  to  move.  All  day  she  sat  in  her  chair, 
but  at  night  she  called  to  Jason  in  a hurried  voice  to 
bring  her  night-clothes.  With  a wild  haste  she  un- 
dressed, dropped  her  comb  on  the  floor,  and  thrust  her 
black  curls  under  her  cap,  swaying  to  and  fro.  Jason 
was  afraid  to  offer  any  help,  but  followed  her  to  the  bed. 
With  a sigh  she  dropped  down  upon  it  suddenly,  and  as 
suddenly  sprang  up  with  a terrible  cry  which  brought 
every  soul  in  the  house  to  the  chamber.  Jason  threw 
his  arms  round  her:  “Sarah,  Sarah,  what  is  it?”  he 
cried. 

44 1 shall  die,”  she  screamed ; 44 1 shall  die.” 

44  Where  is  the  pain,  mother  ?”  Parke  asked,  pale  with 
dread. 

44  Philippa,”  she  said  ; 44  oh,  my  head.” 

Philippa  made  a movement  towards  her,  and  stood 
looking  upon  her  with  a cold  helplessness. 

44  Philippa,”  she  reiterated.  44  What  do  you  there  ?” 

Parke  crowded  the  pillows  together,  and  Jason  in- 


TWO  MEN. 


193 


dined  her  gently  upon  them ; she  let  her  head  fall  back, 
still  keeping  her  eyes  fixed,  with  an  expression  of  terror, 
upon  Philippa,  who  now  came  forward  and  endeavored 
to  smooth  the  covers. 

“ In  the  name  of  all  that’s  good  and  great,  Mary,  why 
are  you  so  mum  ?”  said  Elsa.  “ Send  for  the  doctor.” 

“ I’ll  go,”  said  Parke. 

16  Stay  here,”  whispered  Elsa. 

“ I can’t  stand  it,”  he  replied.  “ I must  get  out.” 

But  the  paroxysm  subsided ; Sarah  wiped  the  sweat 
from  her  forehead  and  closed  her  eyes,  and  all  stole  from 
the  chamber  except  Jason.  Philippa  went  into  one  of 
the  dark  parlors,  for  she  wanted  to  be  alone,  and  lament 
over  her  cold  dislike  for  Sarah  which  nothing  could 
overcome.  A thick  gloom  shut  her  in  upon  herself,  in 
the  face  of  the  apprehension  which  beset  her — of  the 
senseless,  fatuous  pride  of  life,  which  any  hour  might 
reduce  to  the  most  pitiful  straits — and  betrayed  in  black 
relief  how  unlovely  a thing  she  was.  Sarah’s  perpetual 
coldness,  irritation,  and  anger  proved  that  one  at  least 
understood  her  unhappy  idiocrasy.  She  exonerated  Sa- 
rah from  that  moment,  and  made  no  merit  of  the  percep- 
tion which  led  her  to  consider  how  impossible  it  was  for 
her  to  be  considered  any  thing  except  an  intruder  and 
an  encumbrance ; but  her  heart  was  not  softened  an 
atom.  The  door  opened  softly. 

“ Philippa,”  called  Parke,  u are  you  here?  I have 
been  looking  high  and  low  for  you.” 

“ I am  on  the  sofa.” 

He  groped  along  till  he  found  a place  beside  her. 

“ The  doctor  thinks  mother  is  going  to  have  a nervous 

fever;  she  is  easy  now.  Father  is  going  to  sit  up  to- 
i n 


194 


TWO  MEN. 


night.  What  do  you  think  Elsa  is  doing  ?”  And  his 
head  went  down  on  Philippa’s  shoulders. 

a I don’t  know,”  she  murmured,  exquisitely  alive  to 
the  fact  that  his  hair  brushed  her  cheek. 

“ She  is  making  cake  that  will  4 keep,”  she  says. 

“ She  does  so,  because  she  has  been  much  disturbed.” 

“ Did  you  ever  think  of  the  strangeness  of  mother’s 
character,  Philippa  ?” 

“ I have  just  been  thinking  of  it.” 

“ Such  revelations  come  so  unexpectedly  from  those 
who  are  the  nearest  to  us  ! There  is  something  appal- 
ling behind  the  screen  of  every-day  life,  countenance, 
custom,  clothes.  What  is  it  ?”  he  added  so  abruptly, 
that  she  started. 

“ It  is  us”  she  answered,  scarcely  knowing  what  she 
said. 

“ I see  now  that  mother  does  not  love  you.  What 
has  happened  between  you?” 

“ My  name,  my  coming,  and  myself.” 

There  was  no  gainsaying  her  answer ; it  comprehend- 
ed her  whole  history  with  his  mother. 

“ Poor  girl !” 

“No,  not  that; — not  because  of  her;  I have  had  a 
life  apart.” 

“ You  haye  a strength  of  your  own.” 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  silently.  “ Revela- 
tions,” she  thought,  “ go  only  just  so  far.”  A bar  of 
moonlight  slanted  in  through  the  shutter,  fell  across 
their  clasped  hands,  and  made  a lattice  of  light  at  their 
feet.  As  the  moonbeam  entered  the  room,  but  did  not 
encompass  it,  so  did  Parke’s  presence  enter  the  gloom 
which  oppressed  her,  but  did  not  envelop  it.  They 


TWO  MEN. 


195 


had  never  been  together  as  in  that  moment;  it  seemed 
as  if  he  had  yielded  to  her  something  of  himself  he  was 
afraid  to  keep  that  night.  What  protection  could  he 
feel  with  her— he  had  fallen  asleep  on  her  shoulder  ! 
His  fair  forehead  pressed  against  her  mouth,  his  soft  hair 
fell  on  her  neck  ; she  wished  that  he  would  sleep  for- 
ever. The  moonlight  traversed  the  floor,  and  died 
against  the  opposite  wall  before  he  stirred. 

“ Oh,  Philippa,  are  we  here  ?”  he  said,  drowsily,  and 
stretched  out  his  arms  to  infold  her;  “ kiss  me.” 

She  bent  her  head,  and  they  kissed  each  other.  For 
an  instant  the  life-long  hunger  of  her  soul  was  stayed. 

“ You  won’t  strike  me  again,  Philippa  ?” 

It  was  all  over.  How  she  had  been  mocked  ! She 
started  to  her  feet. 

“ Why  did  you  let  me  sleep  so  long  ?”  He  still  held 
her  hand,  though  she  was  going  over  the  floor,  nor  would 
he  release  her  till  they  reached  the  door  of  Sarah’s  cham- 
ber ; then  he  asked  her  to  go  in  and  inquire  how  his 
mother  was.  Her  eyes  were  wide  open,  but  they  wore 
a tranquil  look.  Jason’s  head  was  bent  over  the  bed- 
side, as  if  he  had  fallen  asleep. 

61  Is  Parke  out  there  ?”  Sarah  asked. 

Philippa  nodded.  u He  wishes  to  know  how  you 
are.”* 

“ I am  here,”  she  answered,  in  so  clear  and  natural  a 
voice,  that  he  put  his  head  in  at  the  door,  and  gave  her 
a smile. 

“ Go  to  bed,  boy,”  she  said. 

Jason  looked  up,  and  remarked  that  he  believed  he 
could  be  trusted  as  a watcher,  and  Philippa  glided 
out. 


196 


TWO  ME  1ST. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  nervous  fever  changed  to  a fatal  disease  which 
consumed  Sarah  slowly.  Silent  and  passive  as  she  lay 
in  her  darkened  chamber,  the  pulse  of  household  life  was 
still  subordinate  to  her  influence ; its  ways  depended  on 
her  condition  from  hour  to  hour ; for  the  first  time  it 
tacitly  owned  a common  individuality,  of  which  she  was 
the  centre.  Parke  confined  himself  to  the  house  abso- 
lutely ; flitted  in  and  out  of  her  chamber  t wenty  times  a 
day,  smoked  perpetually,  changed  from  chair  to  chair, 
sofa  to  sofa,  in  all  the  rooms,  where  he  carried  piles  of 
books,  which  he  vainly  tried  to  read.  He  dwelt  upon 
every  favorable  symptom  which  appeared  with  a vehe- 
mence that  betrayed  a doubt ; the  unfavorable  ones  he 
passed  over  with  a dogged  silence.  He  wrote  to  Char- 
lotte, in  the  beginning  of  Sarah’s  illness,  that  she  must 
not  expect  to  see  him  while  his  mother’s  life  hung  by  a 
thread,  but  that  she  would  get  well.  As  an  occupation,^ 
a relief,  he  wrote  to  all  his  friends — he  wished  no  nearer 
approach  from  outside  life — even  including  Theresa.  She 
replied,  and  for  several  weeks  a curious,  semi-oblivious 
correspondence  was  kept  up. 

Jason  watched  by  Sarah’s  bedside  night  and  day;  he 
attended  to  no  calls  whatever.  Gilbert  assumed  author- 
ity over  affairs  out  of  doors,  and  inside  Elsa  conducted 
them  with  quietness  and  dispatch.  But,  as  only  the  or- 
dinary details  necessary  were  dispatched,  she  was  tor- 


TWO  MEN. 


197 


merited  by  a waiting  leisure  which  preceded  a dreaded 
crisis ; day  after  day  she  had  nothing  to  do  but  recall 
her  experiences  in  sickness  and  compare  them  with  the 
present,  or  recount  to  Mary,  and  the  neighbors  who 
came  to  inquire  for  Sarah,  the  cases  which  had  ended  in 
death.  In  the  chambers  of  her  memory  death  showed 
so  placid  and  commonplace  an  aspect  that  his  coming 
wore  no  terrors;  but  his  shadow  darkened  Philippa’s 
soul.  All  that  she  looked  upon  was  touched  with  Decay ; 
nothing  had  been  made  to  escape  the  vanishing  Hand. 
A peremptory  restlessness  prevented  her  from  inhabiting 
any  familiar  spot.  Her  own  room  now  looked  like  a 
guest-chamber ; she  wandered  often  in  the  garden,  in  the 
orchard,  and  over  the  hill.  Many  times  a day  she  put 
in  order  the  cups  and  vials  on  the  table  and  mantel  in 
Sarah’s  chamber,  but  rarely  exchanged  any  words  with 
her.  Sometimes  she  sat  near  her  while  Jason  was  at  his 
meals ; then  Sarah’s  eyes  followed  her  movements  with 
an  expression  which  was  interpreted  in  the  old  way. 
Once  when  their  eyes  met  Sarah  asked  her  if  Parke  was 
married.  She  shook  her  head  for  a reply,  not  trusting 
herself  to  speak,  and  hoped  that  Sarah  would  say  more 
— they  could  at  least  unite  on  that  subject — but  she 
turned  her  face  to  the  wall.  Again  she  asked  if  the  cin- 
namon roses  had  bloomed.  Philippa  gathered  some  for 
her;  she  turned  them  over  and  over  in  her  hand,  inhaled 
their  perfume  for  an  instant,  and  handed  them  to  Jason, 
with  a motion  that  they  should  be  taken  out  of  her 
sight. 

“ Philippa,”  she  called,  once  more,  “ what  kind  of  a 
day  is  it  ?” 

“ The  sunshine  is  level  everywhere.” 


198 


TWO  MEN. 


“ Level ! So  shall  I be  soon.  Shall  you  stay  here 

afterwards  ?” 

“ Do  you  wish  me  to  ?’ 

“Stop.  Yes,  or  no.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I knew  you  would.” 

“ And  I know  that  you  do  not  desire  it.” 

“ I cannot.” 

For  the  most  part,  Sarah  was  silent  towards  Jason. 
Not  a word  passed  between  them  concerning  Parke  or 
Philippa ; he  accepted  what  her  will  had  enforced  now, 
as  always.  If  he  had  any  hope  of  a nearer,  clearer  com- 
munication, he  was  disappointed.  He  vainly  watched 
for  an  opportunity  to  give  her  some  fragment  of  himself 
that  would  leave  him  with  the  feeling  that  she  had  some 
clue  to  his  spiritual  being.  Savages  have  a belief  that 
when  they  are  in  the  clutches  of  the  lion  and  the  tiger  a 
happy  paralysis  seizes  them — they  do  not  feel  the  terror 
of  being  rent  asunder ; it  may  be  that  there  is  a magnet- 
ism of  Death,  in  which  all  the  powers  of  life  are  painless- 
ly wrapped.  It  seemed  so  with  Sarah. 

The  morning  dawned  when  Jason  saw  in  her  face  the 
bewildered,  flitting  look  of  a departing  soul.  He  kneeled_ 
by  her  with  a solemn  mien,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  hers, 
and  a sad  intelligence  passed  between  them.  She  said 
nothing,  but  for  a moment  returned  his  gaze;  then  she 
laid  her  feeble  hand  on  his,  and  shut  her  eyes.  He  kissed 
her  tenderly,  and  she  gave  a sigh  which  ploughed  his  heart 
with  anguish,  and  tempted  him  to  cry  aloud.  He  buried 
his  face  in  her  pillow,  and  presently  he  felt  her  hand 
moving  round  his  neck,  and  drawing  him  close  to  her. 
Then  she  was  still.  The  voice  of  Elsa  broke  the  silence. 


TWO  MEN. 


199 


“She  is  going  to  heaven,  Jason,  swiftly,  and  she  does 
not  sense  it.” 

“Call  Parke  and  Philippa.” 

Her  soul  passed  over  the  threshold  of  the  world  of 
spirits,  just  as  they  reached  the  room.  Parke  saw  her 
hands  flutter,  and  darted  forward  with  a cry  of  “Mother!” 
caught  them  in  his  grasp,  but  their  helpless  deadness 
appalled  him  so  he  dropped  them  and  staggered  back- 
ward. Philippa  »tood  by  Jason,  self-forgetful,  absorbed 
in  the  dread  spectacle.  Her  brain  whirled  with  the  ques- 
tions which  pressed  upon  her.  “ What  is  that  in  the 
place  of  her  identity?”  “Where  is  she?”  “Why  was 
she  ever  alive  ?”  w What  does  it  all  mean  ?” 

“ It  is  all  over,”  Elsa  announced,  in  a composed  voice, 
laying  Sarah’s  hands  straight  beside  her,  and  closing  her 
eyes. 

“ Oh  God !”  cried  Parke,  “ this  is  too  horrible.  Talk 
about  infinite  Goodness  before  such  a sight  as  this !” 

Philippa  gave  a loud,  hysterical  cry,  at  which  Jason 
rose  to  his  feet,  looked  wildly  about  him,  and  struck  his 
hands  out  as  if  he  could  not  see. 

“Take  care  of  Parke,  Jason,”  said  Elsa,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  lead  him  away,  reeling. 

“ I’ll  put  you  to  bed,  miss,”  said  Elsa  to  Philippa,  lead- 
ing her  from  the  room  tenderly,  and  crying  bitterly. 

When  the  doors  were  opened  for  the  coffin-bearers, 
the  sun  streamed  its  hot,  yellow  rays  through  the  liouse, 
and  laid  bare  its  loneliness.  Something  was  gone  from 
every  nook  and  corner.  No  sweet,  gracious,  lovely 
spirit  had  vanished  therefrom,  but  a dominant,  exacting, 
forcible  presence  had  gone  forever.  The  sun’s  rays 

% 


200 


TWO  MEN. 


fell  from  the  wide,  blue  summer  sky,  and  travelled 
with  the  funeral  procession  that  still  afternoon  when 
Sarah  was  buried,  and  rested  on  the  mound  of  sand 
heaped  beside  the  grave — on  the  black  pall — on  the 
mourners — with  a glory  that  mocked  the  shadows  of 
the  Valley  of  Death. 


TWO  MEN. 


201 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Several  neighbors  remained  in  the  house  after  the 
procession  left,  to  restore  the  rooms  to  order,  and  pre- 
pare supper  against  the  return  from  the  grave.  One  of 
them,  crossing  from  one  parlor  to  the  other,  saw  a stran- 
ger standing  on  the  steps  before  the  open  door.  She  set 
down  the  chair  she  was  carrying,  and  went  towards 
him. 

“ What  is  the  matter  here  ?”  he  asked. 

“ There  is  a death  in  the  family.” 

“Whose?” 

“ Mrs.  Auster’s.  The  procession  left  the  house  but  a 
few  minutes  ago.” 

“Ah !” 

“ Will  you  walk  in  and  take  a seat,  sir  ?” 

“ Thank  you,  no ; but  I’ll  lounge  about  till  the  family 
return.” 

Sauntering  down  the  gravel-walk,  as  if  it  were  a pleas- 
ant thing  to  do  at  that  moment,  he  repeated  over  and 
over  again,  “ That  girl,  Sarah,”  then  came  back  and  sat 
upon  the  lowest  step. 

“ Whoever  stayed  away  ten  years,  though,”  he  thought, 
marking  an  S in  the  gravel  with  his  cane,  “without  some- 
body’s dying  ? I wonder  I did  not  hear  the  bell  toll ! 
Have  they  given  over  the  custom  of  letting  the  world 
know  the  ages  of  those  carried  away  feet  foremost  ? 
Three  of  us  left— myself,  the  boy,  and  Philippa.  I might 


202 


TWO  MEN. 


have  asked  for  Philippa,  but  I should  have  been  bother- 
ed by  the  curiosity  of  these  people.  Will  Sarah’s  ghost 
object  to  my  staying  here  ? I could  divide  honors  with 
Jason,  never  with  her.  I wonder  if  her  curls  ever  came 
out  ? ITow  many  times  have  I tried  to  pull  them  straight ! 
She  should  not  be  buried  there — it’s  not  the  right  kind 
of  clay.  She  should  be  put  where  there  is  an  eternal 
tramp.  Pah  ! i could  hear  the  worms  crawl  under  the 
sod  up  there,  it  is  so  still.” 

Those  within  were  informed  that  a stranger  was  on 
the  door-steps,  and  it  was  concluded  that  he  must  be  a 
relative  of  Jason’s,  too  late  for  the  funeral.  An  exami- 
nation from  the  upper  windows,  however,  proved  the 
conclusion  incorrect.  Some  one  discovered  his  likeness 
to  Parke,  still  strong,  though  Osmond  Luce  (for  it  was 
he)  had  changed  in  the  last  nine  years.  His  once  bright 
hair  was  gray  over  his  forehead,  though  round  his  mas- 
sive neck  a row  of  brown  ringlets  still  crept.  His  eyes 
were  still  reckless  and  gay,  but  deep  wrinkles  had  gath- 
ered round  them,  and  the  lids  looked  tight  and  drawn, 
like  those  of  birds  of  prey.  There  was  something  loose  in 
his  figure,  and  weak,  in  spite  of  his  size  and  vigor.  The' 
women  called  him  a handsome,  grand-looking  man.  How 
easy  he  was  behaving,  too,  out  there  on  the  gravel-walk, 
breaking  the  twigs  and  flowers  as  if  they  were  his  own ! 

A little  girl  came  through  the  open  gate,  and  hurried 
up  the  walk,  stopping  when  she  saw  him. 

“ Mrs.  Lang  wants  to  know  if  the  folks  have  come 
home  from  the  funeral  ?”  she  said. 

“ They  have  not,”  he  replied. 

“ She  sends  word  to  Parke  that  he  must  come  up  there 
right  away.  Charlotte  is  sick.” 


TWO  MEN. 


203 


She  looked  in  at  the  open  windows  with  curiosity,  and 
oyer  the  yard..  She  had  heard  what  had  happened,  and 
expected  to  meet  something  strange. 

“What  ails  Charlotte?”  he  asked. 

44  Oh,  I don’t  know.” 

64  I’ll  tell  him  as  soon  as  I see  him.” 

46  Right  away,”  she  repeated,  but  made  no  motion  to 
go,  scanning  the  yard. 

64  You  wish  for  a flower,  don’t  you?” 

44  Yes,  sir.” 

44  Pick  that  red  one  yonder.” 

That’s  London  Pride.  Do  you  live  here  ?” 

44  No  ; do  you  ?” 

44 1 guess  I do.” 

44  How  many  inhabitants  are  here  ?” 

44  Inhabitants !” 

44  People — folks.” 

4‘  I can’t  tell ; mother  says  that  most  all  the  old  people 
are  dead,  and  that  the  place  ain’t  what  it  was  once.” 

44  What  was  your  mother’s  name  when  the  old  people 
were  alive  ?” 

44  Eliza  Ames  ; now  it  is  Smith.” 

That  name  carried  him  back  twenty  years.  He  was 
walking  the  streets  of  Crest  on  a moonlight  night  beside 
a handsome,  gay  girl,  who  had  jilted  him,  and  whom  he 
was  beseeching  again  with  love  ! 44  To  this  favor  has 

she  come,”  he  thought, 44  an  eleven-year  old,  sandy-haired 
Smith.” 

Leaving  the  step,  he  traversed  the  flower-paths  till  he 
found  the  bitter  aromatic  southernwood ; breaking  off  a 
bit,  he  said,  44  Take  this  to  your  mother,  and  tell  her 
that  Prince  Osric  sent  it  to  her.” 


204 


TWO  MEN. 


“ Its  only  southernwood,”  she  uttered  with  contempt ; 
“ but  I’ll  take  it  to  her.  Good-by,  sir.” 

In  a few  moments  he  heard  the  sound  of  slowly  ap- 
proaching wheels,  and,  planting  his  hat  firmly  over  his 
brows,  rose  to  meet  the  persons  he  expected  to  see.  A 
number  of  carriages  halted  at  the  gate ; the  first  con- 
tained Jason,  Parke,  and  Philippa.  Jason  came  forward 
like  one  walking  in  his  sleep,  and  did  not  see  Osmond 
till  he  touched  his  outstretched  hand. 

“Cousin  Jason,  we  meet  again.” 

“Oh  yes,”  he  answered,  looking  past  him  into  the 
house. 

“You  know  me,  Osmond  Luce ?” 

“ Yes.  Sarah  is  dead,  though ; you  could  not  come 
before,  I suppose.”  And  he  half  turned  as  if  to  recommend 
him  to  the  notice  of  Parke  and  Philippa,  who  were  be- 
hind him,  and,  pushing  by  him,  he  went  up  the  steps. 

Philippa  knew  her  father,  and  put  out  her  hand  silent- 
ly ; he  took  it,  and,  extending  the  other  to  Parke,  said : 
“My  poor  felloAV,  my  mother  was  buried  on  such  an 
afternoon  as  this ; the  sunset  seems  the  same.  I rement 
ber  that  I counted  the  red  bars  in  the  sky  as  the  com- 
pany got  out  of  the  carriages.” 

Tears  moistened  his  eyes  as  they  dwelt  on  Parke, 
whose  tearless  gaze  roved  the  sky,  showing  that  he  had 
heard  the  sense  of  Osmond’s  words,  but  he  did  not 
speak. 

“ Come  in,”  said  Philippa ; “ the  rest  are  coming  up 
the  steps.” 

“ You  are  the  same,  Philippa,”  said  her  father  ab- 
ruptly. 

“No  change,”  she  answered,  as  they  entered  the  old 


TWO  MEN. 


205 


familiar,  panelled  room.  “ Parke,  you  had  better  go  after 
Jason.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Osmond,  “it  is  the  best  time  for  friends 
to  keep  together.  We  remember  how  attached  the  lost 
one  was  to  this  one  or  that,  and  feel  charitable  ; more- 
over, we  pity  each  other  as  victims  of  the  same  future, 
-and  resolve  a mutual  protection.  After  a while,  though, 
we  separate  with  a fresh  eagerness  for  our  different 
ways.” 

“ You  are  the  same,  father,”  said  Philippa  quietly. 

“ I am  glad  of  it,  Osmond,”  said  Parke,  who  had  paid 
no  attention  to  her  request.  A I am  glad  you  are  here. 
Open  that  shutter,  Philippa ; the  people  will  stay  in  the 
other  room,  will  they  ? Get  me  some  water,  will  you, 
then  ?” 

“ Do  you  draw  water,  Philippa  ?”  Osmond  asked  with 
some  sharpness. 

“ When  I ask  her,  she  does,”  Parke  said. 

“ Did  you  and  Sarah  love  each  other,  Philippa  ?”  her 
father  asked,  under  his  breath. 

“ No.” 

“ I thought  so.  By  the  way,”  turning  to  Parke,  “ a 
little  girl  was  here  not  long  ago,  with  a message  for  you. 
Mrs.  Lang  sent  for  you  because  Charlotte  was  sick.” 

“ Is  she  sick  ?”  he  muttered  confusedly,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other.  Philippa’s  expression  underwent  so 
sudden  a change  that  Osmond  comprehended  there  was 
a mystery.  Parke  took  his  hat,  hesitated — “Osmond,” 
he  called.  Before  he  could  reply,  Philippa  made  so  neg- 
ative and  imperious  a gesture,  that  Parke  abruptly  left 
the  room. 

Elsa  had  recognized  Osmond  at  once,  but  she  thought 
18 


206 


TWO  MEN. 


it  best  not  to  bruit  his  arrival ; she  therefore  marshalled 
the  guests  into  supper,  and  then  bustled  in  to  see  him. 
They  fell  into  a deep  talk,  and  Philippa  escaped  from 
them  without  notice. 

“ These  are  wretched  particulars,  Elsa,”  said  Osmond  ; 
“ have  I come  to  see  the  old  ship  go  down  ?” 

“ Sarah  was  at  the  helm  always,  you  know.” 

“ We  must  lash  the  helm  down,  and  let  the  craft  drift 
into  smooth  water  again ; it  will,  you  know,  in  time.” 

“No  lashing  for  me.  I am  going ; if  I can’t  die,  I can 
move !” 

“ Nonsense;  because  Parke  has  been  foolish,  or  be- 
cause Jason  is  a widower?” 

“ Put  it  all  together,  or  sort  it  out,  just  as  you  like. 
As  for  Parke’s  being  foolish,  he  has  only  been  as  much 
as  a man  can  be — that  is,  not  much,  you  know.  As  for 
Jason’s  being  a wi dower — though  he  is  soft,  I don’t 
think  he  could  help  it.” 

“ In  view  of  all  the  facts,  I think  that  Parke  had  better 
leave  Crest.” 


TWO  MEN. 


207 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Parke  sat  by  another  bed  of  death,  dull  and  exhausted. 
He  listened  to  Mrs.  Lang’s  reproaches,  Clarice’s  accusa- 
tions, and  Charlotte’s  dying  4sighs,  with  a stupid  com- 
posure. Before  sunrise  he  looked  upon  the  face  of  his 
dead  mistress,  with  her  dead  child  beside  her.  The  awe 
of  death  was  ushered  in  the  chamber  with  the  pale  dawn. 
A yellow  light  crept  round  the  walls,  over  the  figures  of 
Mrs.  Lang  and  Clarice,  who  sat  motionless  and  heavy, 
like  the  mutilated  statues  in  the  sand  of  Thebes — over 
the  defaced,  haggard  glory  in  Parke’s  face  ; over  the 
dumb,  marble  Charlotte.  Not  until  Mrs.  Lang  and 
Clarice  stole  out  of  the  room  did  he  move  from  the  posi- 
tion he  had  maintained  for  hours ; then  he  stood  before 
the  bed.  Charlotte’s  hair  had  fallen  across  her  arm  in  a 
coil ; he  untwined  it,  and'  held  it — the  talisman  of  the 
past — and  studied  the  mystery  in  her  face — that  which 
the  dead  bear  away  with  them,  and  never  reveal.  As 
dead  as  this  prostrate,  powerless  creature,  were  the  feel- 
ings which  she  had  created  in  his  heart.  Their  existence 
had  ceased  with  hers  ; but  his  heart  was  killed  too — by 
depletion.  How  beautiful  she  was  still ! The  images 
of  the  women  he  had  known  rose  up  before  him  in  their 
living  power,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  of  them  all  Char- 
lotte could  only  die ; that  of  Theresa  Bond  glowed  with 
color,  and  streamed  in  upon  his  thoughts  like  a pane  of 
stained  glass  in  a gloomy  cathedral.  Pity,  though,  that 


208 


TWO  MEN. 


so  much  beauty,  so  loving  a heart  as  Charlotte’s,  must 
be  entombed  ; — he  wept  pure  tears  of  pity  for  her,  which 
her  spirit  must  have  rejoiced  over.  No  hand  but  his,  he 
determined,  should  touch  those  beautiful  tresses,  he  had 
so  often  slept  against.  He  called  Mrs.  Lang  in  again, 
and  told  her  his  wish.  Some  ribbon  was  found,  and 
with  that  they  were  arranged ; but  Mrs.  Lang  observed 
that  his  face  was  averted  from  the  child,  which  lay  as  if 
slumbering  on  the  pillow.  • 

“ The  Lord  has  not  taken  off  the  babe  dis  time ; it  was 
some  other  body.” 

“You  know,”  he  said,  “that  I have  not  seen  it.  I 
shall  not  look  at  it ; that  shame  may  be  spared  me  at 
least.  Hide  it  in  her  bosom,  if  you  choose,  it  is  already 
hidden  in  mine — the  monument  to  remind  me  to  hate 
myself;  in  hers,  it  may  turn  to  a pitying  angel.  Now 
keep  everybody  away.  Send  for  your  minister,  if  you 
choose,  no  one  else.” 

“ Yes,  my  minister  wanted  to  baptize  her ! Ha ! Char- 
lotte baptized  ! Any  of  my  chil’n  baptized — isn’t  that  a 
joke — oh,  Almighty,  give  the  patience.”  And  Mrs. 
Lang  wrung  her  hands,  and  screamed  like  a maniac.^ 

“Hush,”  said  Parke,  “one  of  you  is  dead  at  any 
rate.” 

“ Stay  with  us,”  she  implored. 

“Yes — till  I go  to  the  grave  with  her.  After  that 
there  will  be  nothing  I can  do  for  you.” 

The  manner  which  he  instinctively  assumed  she  under- 
stood at  once,  and  told  Clarice  that  Charlotte  would  be 
buried  for  good  with  him,  and  they  also  on  the  day  of 
the  funeral. 

“ Of  course,”  she  replied,  “ there  are  no  more  Char- 


TWO  MEN. 


209 


lottes  to  seduce;  why  shouldn’t  he  leave?  Mother, 
can’t  we  go  from  here  ?” 

“No;  we  should  have  to  take  what  we  are  with  us, 
wherever  we  went.” 

“ True,  we  will  stay,  and  rub  in  our  humiliation,  and 
keep  the  brand  bright.  Ashes  are  good  where  the  flesh 
is  raw.” 

“You  are  a beast  of  a child  ; Charlotte  was  better.  I 
wanted  her  to  live.” 

“ I say  she  was  bad.” 

“Bless  them  that  despitefully  use  you,”  sang  Mrs. 
Lang,  “ and  I bless  you,  Clarice.” 

“ Pooh,  you  are  melted  just  now.” 

Parke  sent  a note  to  Philippa  with  the  particulars,  in- 
forming her  that  he  should  not  be  at  home  at  present. 
Philippa,  for  reply,  sent  him  some  money  and  a change 
of  clothes,  by  a messenger  she  picked  up  outside.  She 
then  gave  the  note  to  Jason,  who  read  it,  and  returned  it 
without  comment.  But  it  had  the  effect  of  sending  him 
out  of  doors.  His  pale,  stern  face  appeared  everywhere 
for  the  three  days  following.  People  were  made  sensi- 
ble, such  was  the  force  of  his  presence,  that  he  was 
Parke’s  protector.  As  for  Osmond,  the  pressure  of  cir- 
cumstances, as  he  teasingly  told  Elsa,  was  such  that  he 
thought  he  had  better  “ sing  small.” 

“When  I hear  one  of  your  diabolical  set  ‘singing 
small,’  I shall  hear  a new  kind  of  music,”  she  replied. 

Philippa  defied  the  devil,  as  Elsa  commented ; it  was 
impossible  to  guess  from  her  behavior  that  any  calamity 
was  weighing  upon  her.  She  repelled  every  inclination 
of  sympathy  that  might  have  strayed  in  her  direction. 
Somehow  Elsa  obtained  all  the  particulars  concerning 
18* 


210 


TWO  MEN. 


Parke,  and  knew  the  exact  moment  when  he  issued  from 
Mrs.  Lang’s  door  to  follow  the  coffin  in  company  with 
her  and  a few  of  the  immediate  neighbors. 

“Til  bet,”  she  said,  “that  this  day  he  is  his  mother’s 
own  child.  I should  like  to  see  how  he  bears  compari- 
son, as  he  stands  among  his  respectable  dead  relations.” 

He  was  well  worth  the  seeing.  A number  of  people, 
as  curious  as  Elsa,  had  gathered  about  the  gate  of  the 
burying-ground,  and  there  were  loungers  down  the 
length  of  the  picket-fence — of  that  class  whose  tongues 
are  the  hot-beds  for  startling  crops  of  surmises.  A group 
of  young  men,  Parke’s  acquaintances,  were  waiting  for 
his  arrival  with  mixed  feelings — of  admiration  at  his 
pluck,  and  gratification  at  the  strait  he  was  brought  to. 
These  persons  had  taken  a common  privilege  : funerals 
were  not  affairs  that  belonged  to  friends  and  relatives 
merely — they  were  the  right  of  the  public,  who  liked  to 
feel  the  pulse  of  grief. 

With  all  his  imperfections  on  his  head,  Parke  never 
looked  so  much  a man  as  then ; he  walked  up  the  gravel- 
path  with  Mrs.  Lang  on  his  arm,  passed  his  mother’s 
grave,  whose  mound  rose  brown  and  bare  among  the 
grassy  hillocks  which  surrounded  it,  and  stood  before 
the  heap  of  sand  which  was  to  cover  Charlotte.  Then 
all  the  followers  saw  that  she  was  to  be  buried  among 
the  Parkes,  with  his  own  family.  This  proud  concession 
implied  more  than  they  could  define.  His  self-possession 
was  astonishing ; there  was  so  much  cold  authority  in 
his  mien  that  not  one  of  them  would  have  been  willing 
to  meet  his  eye.  The  women  retreated,  but,  with  the 
petty  bitterness  of  women,  and  hypocrisy,  said  to  each 
other,  “ Did  you  ever  see  such  brass  ?”  and  “ Isn’t  it  3 


TWO  MEN, 


211 


pretty  thing  that  the  wolves  in  sheep’s  clothing  are  hav- 
ing it  all  their  own  way  ?”  But  the  men  were  silent  for 
a moment;  then  they  hurst  out  with,  “By  Jove,  sirs, 
there’s  stuff!”  and  “ Who  can  blame  the  girl  ?” 

Though  Clarice  staggered  in  her  convulsive  weeping, 
she  was  conscious  of  a sentiment  of  gratitude  towards 
Parke  for  giving  Charlotte  the  place  among  the  dead  of 
his  race  that  he  would  have  given  her  had  she  been  his 
wife.  That  she  would  be  his  wife,  had  she  lived,  Clarice 
had  never  believed,  though  she  was  aware  of  his  promise 
— made  on  the  day  of  the  awful  discovery  of  the  nature 
of  the  connection  between  them. 

Mrs.  Lang  muttered  so  strangely  when  the  coffin  slid 
on  its  cords,  that  he  pulled  her  vail  over  her  face,  and 
held  a warning  arm  round  her.  When  the  minister  had 
spoken  the  earth-consecrating  words,  he  raised  his  bat, 
and,  still  leading  Mrs.  Lang,  moved  down  the  path;  but 
he  did  not  return  home  with  her  and  Clarice ; after  pla- 
cing them  in  the  carriage,  he  turned  into  a solitary  by- 
road, and  walked  by  himself. 

He  entered  the  room  where  Osmond  sat  reading,  and 
Philippa  was  sewing,  and  stood  before  them  a moment 
in  silence.  A smile,  which  trailed  the  whole  past  over 
his  face,  struck  Osmond  and  Philippa  with  the  feeling 
that  they  had  not  seen  him  for  ages. 

“Crystallization  has  taken  place,”  thought  Osmond; 
“ he  is  too  young,  the  boy,  for  that.”  Then  he  said  aloud, 
“Crest  won’t  do  for  me,  my  boy,  without  you.  Jason 
is  monotonous,  and  Philippa  is — Philippa.” 

Parke  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  his  shoulder,  turned 
from  him,  and  sat  down  by  her.  She  was  sewing  a long 
seam  on  white  cloth,  which  he  remembered  to  have  seen 


212 


TWO  MEN. 


in  her  hands,  six  weeks,  or  six  years,  before.  She  looked 
up,  full  of  the  effort  to  speak  to  him,  but  Jason  entered, 
and  she  remained  silent.  Parke  instantly  rose  and  faced 
his  father,  thus  paying  his  first  tribute  of  respect  to  him. 
Jason  turned  his  head  to  the  window,  to  the  doors,  to-, 
wards  Parke,  and  nodded  with  a nod  which  contained 
the  old  permission  of  full  liberty. 

“Upon  my  soul,”  Osmond  silently  commented,  “that 
man  is  a genius,  and  an  honor  to  human  nature.  If  he 
develops,  I should  like  to  make  a raree  show  of  him.” 

Philippa  rolled  up  her  work,  and  made  some  stir 
over  her  work-basket,  wondering  why  they  did.  not 
speak — this  was  the  occasion ! Presently,  as  the  silence 
continued  unbroken,  with  a mixture  of  courage  and  sim- 
plicity she  said,  “ Silence  is  sometimes  a want  of  truth.” 

“Always,”  said  Jason;  “but  what  are  you  going  to 
do  about  it  ?” 

“ Philippa  is  simply  an  idiot,”  thought  Osmond. 

“ Is  it  not  enough  that  I have  returned  ?”  said  Parke; 
“ or  will  you  have  a sermon  preached  ?” 

“Oh,  that  has  been  preached,”  Jason  answered. 

“ I thought  so,”  said  Parke. 


TWO  MEN. 


213 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Link  by  link  the  family  chain  was  parting.  For  a few 
weeks  Elsa  transacted  domestic  affairs  as  if  under  the 
supervision  of  Sarah.  Jason  resumed  his  old  out-of-doors 
life,  and  Parke  went  hither  and  thither,  driving  with 
Osmond,  playing  the  piano,  and  skimming  books.  Phil- 
ippi’s habits  appeared  the  same  also.  But  there  was  not 
a day,  rain  or  shine,  that  she  did  not  pay  a visit  to  the 
hill — the  most  solitary  spot  in  Crest,  near  as  it  was  to 
the  streets.  The  cedars,  brown  with  age,  crooked  from 
wrangling  with  the  sea- wind,  hid  her  as  she  ascended  the 
path  to  the  top,  and  the  oaks,  the  rocks,  and  the  bare 
side  of  the  grassy  mound  which  met  the  sky,  protected 
her.  There  her  eyes  were  not  tormented  by  the  confin- 
ing walls  and  their  familiar  objects;  they  rested  on  the 
small  treasures  which  Nature  offered  her — grass,  weeds, 
moss,  seeds,  and  mould — but  they  rested  vacantly.  Not 
even  the  higher  glories  of  the  provident  Mother,  the 
trees,  the  air  and  clouds,  the  sea,  immense  and  eternal 
as  was  their  aspect,  appeased  the  hunger  of  her  heart. 
Parke’s  music  became  to  him  a new  thing ; he  played 
the  changes  of  his  soul — the  accents  of  his  experience 
sounded  through  all  his  compositions ; but  to  her  it 
seemed  only  an  increased  attention  he  was  giving  the 
piano  from  ennui . It  was  the  time  when  they  were 
most  together.  He  asked  her  once  if  music  was  becom- 
ing a companion. 


214 


TWO  MEN. 


“No,”  she  answered,  “the  companion  of  a com- 
panion.” 

“ This  is  a pretty  life,”  Osmond  thought,  when  he  ob- 
served them  together.  “ Arcadian,  mild,  quiet,  but  fla- 
vorless; the  salt  of  life  is  confined  to  the  sea  here.  Of 
course  a ripple  is  coming  in  its  current,  which  I shall 
wait  for.  Dolce  far  niente  is  a plant  that  never  reaches 
maturity  in  this  climate ; even  imported  specimens  peak 
and  pine,  and  resemble  celery  which  is  transplanted  to 
the  cellar.” 

The  ripple,  or  a snap  in  the  chain,  was  caused  by  Elsa, 
who  again  informed  Osmond  that  now  she  was  going  in 
earnest.  She  should  take  up  her  abode  in  her  own 
house — an  ancient  dwelling,  standing  on  the  bay  neck, 
in  a solitary  spot,  with  a few  acres  of  arable  land  around 
it,  which  she  had  farmed  out  for  years  without  a dollar’s 
profit.  “ It  was  time  for  her,”  she  said,  “ to  look  after 
her  own  property.”  He  offered  to  purchase  it,  if  she 
would  remain  with  Philippa ; but  she  declined,  arguing 
that  it  was  the  best  thing  to  be  done  for  Philippa,  who 
would  never  do  any  thing  for  herself,  so  long  as  she  had 
her  to  lean  upon.  “ I shall  tell  her,”  Elsa  concluded, 
“that  she  will  have  to  be  her  own  cook  and  bottle- 
washer,  with  Mary’s  help ; unless,  indeed,  she  wants  to 
fill  up  the  house  with  new-fangled  servants,  which  she 
can  never  do,  on  Jason’s  account.” 

“ For  all  that,”  returned  Osmond,  “ you  will  come 
back.” 

“ I suppose  you  think  I ought  to  die  in  harness ; but 
if  there  is  not  a Parke  worth  living  for  even,  what  is 
the  beauty  of  staying  here  to  die  ?” 

“We  shall  see,”  he  answered  provokingly;  but  he 


TWO  MEN. 


215 


saw  she  was  determined  on  the  point.  A day  or  two 
afterwards  she  told  Jason,  who  begged  her  to  give  him 
lessons  in  house- work  before  she  went,  for  he  should  en- 
dure no  stranger  in  her  place. 

“ Philippa  must  take  my  place.” 

“Nonsense,  Elsa;  what  can  she  do?” 

“ She  must  learn ; there  won’t  be  much  to  do,  the 
family  will  be  small.” 

“ How  small  ?” 

“You  don’t  imagine  Osmond  Luce  is  going  to  settle 
down  in  this  spot  at  this  late  day.  And  when  he  begins 
his  rounds  again,  Parke  will  begin  his  also.” 

Jason  appeared  struck.  “Poor  Philippa!”  he  said 
absently. 

“ Did  you  ever  know  a young  man  to  remain  at  home 
for  the  sake  of  a 6 poor  Philippa,’  or  anybody  else, 
when  the  spirit  of  wandering  has  seized  him  ?— and  it 
has  seized  Parke.” 

“ Do  you  think  so  ? He  has  every  thing  to  stay  for.” 

“ He  hasn’t.” 

“ His  estate,  his  associations — Philippa.” 

“ And  the  Langs.” 

“ Oh,  I forgot  thosg.” 

“Jason,  you  are  the  strangest  man  I ever  saw.’ 

“ I wonder  if  I hadn’t  better  go.” 

“Now,  where  would  you  go?” 

“To  where  I started  from,  with  my  trunk.  Where  is 
my  trunk,  Elsa  ? Is  there  an  old  pincushion  in  it,  do 
you  know  ? Perhaps  I could  find  the  girl  who  gave  it 
to  me,  twenty  years  ago.” 

“Pincushion  and  trunk  are  among  the  things  that 
were.” 


21G 


TWO  MEN. 


“ Then  I must  stay.” 

“ You  had  better,  if  you  want  things  to  hold  to- 
gether.” 

Besides  some  desire  for  a change  from  the  scene  of 
her  cares  and  sorrows,  Elsa  was  oppressed  by  a presenti- 
ment, which  she  did  not  try  to  account  for.  To  use  her 
own  expression,  Jason,  Parke,  and  Philippa  were  at 
loose  ends,  and  there  was  no  telling  what  changes  might 
take  place ; she  would  not  remain,  to  embarrass  them, 
nor  herself.  They  were  also  of  another  day  and  gener- 
ation than  the  one  she  had  lived  for,  and  she  felt  her- 
self incapable  of  assuming  their  responsibilities. 

She  hurried  away  with  an  eagerness  that  was  ominous 
to  Mary,  who  bewailed  the  necessity  of  taking  charge 
of  the  household.  The  day  she  left,  accompanied  by 
Parke  and  Philippa,  was  one  late  in  September ; the 
autumnal  winds  had  not  yet  devastated  the  woods,  but 
the  leaves  fluttered  down,  seeking  their  place  of  repose 
in  the  gay  shroud  which  the  summer  bequeathed. 
Vigorous  blossoms,  red,  blue,  and  yellow,  covered  the 
ditches  and  fields,  flaunting  above  the  sear  grass,  for- 
getful of  the  dance  of  death  they  were  preparing  for 
when  the  winter  winds  should  blow.  The  pale  amber 
atmosphere  stained  the  calm  sea,  and  blurred  the  sky. 
Parke  loved  the  sadness  and  sweetness  of  the  day ; but. 
Philippa,  unforgiving  towards  Elsa  for  leaving  her,  was 
petulant,  nervous,  and  behaved  more  oddly  than  usual. 
Elsa  was  occupied  with  wondering  whether  Mr.  Clapp’s 
folks  would  be  ready  to  receive  her. 

“ There,”  she  said,  as  they  turned  into  a lane,  at  the 
end  of  which  her  house  stood,  “ the  bars  are  down,  and 
the  Clapps  are  looking  out ; the  window  blinking  in  the 
sun  is  my  best-room  ” 


TWO  MEN. 


217 


“ How  you  will  enjoy  yourself! — what  a lovely  spot !” 
said  Philippa  satirically.  “ How  agreeable  a walk  must 
be  in  this  lane ; and  the  Clapps,  I judge,  will  be  ample 
society  for  you.” 

“ Not  so  much  but  that  I shall  be  glad  to  see  you; 
you  will  come  and  tea  with  me,  won’t  you  ?” 

“ She  is  never  coming  to  tea,”  cried  Parke  ; “ we  are 
going  to  break  with  you  entirely.” 

“ But  you  won’t.” 

He  wilfully  refused  to  go  inside  the  door ; but,  after 
he  had  turned  the  carriage,  jumped  out,  seized  her  on 
the  threshold,  and  gave  her  withered  cheek  a hearty 
kiss,  and  jumped  back  again.  Hurrying  in  to  the  house, 
followed  by  Philippa,  to  conceal  that  she  was  crying, 
she  threw  herself  into  a chair,  and  exclaimed,  “ I have 
buried  myself  with  a vengeance.” 

“ Go  back  with  us,”  Philippa  urged ; “ it  is  not  too 
late.  You  know  that  you  are  making  a mistake.” 

“ Go  right  home ; I’ve  got  other  fish  to  fry  just  now 
than  to  listen  to  you.” 

“May  their  bones  choke  you  !” 

“ Spiteful  thing,  good-by.  Clear  out.” 

“ How  fast  that  young  man  drives  !”  said  Mrs.  Clapp, 
watching  him  down  the  lane ; but  Elsa  would  not  leave 
her  seat  till  she  knew  the  carriage  was  out  of  sight; 
then  she  started  up,  and  declared  she  was  going  into 
the  orchard. 

“There  hasn’t  been  any  windfalls  yet  to  speak  of,  and 
I told  my  old  man  it  wasn’t  worth  while  to  turn  in  the 
hogs  ; they’d  only  make  a mess  on’t  with  rooting,”  Mrs. 
Clapp  droned,  but  Elsa  was  gone. 

“ Mercy  on  us,”  Mrs.  Clapp  went  on,  “ she  will  make 
19 


218 


TWO  MEN. 


it  as  lively  as  a hornet’s  nest  for  us.  May  be  she  won’t 
hire  us  the  place  another  year.” 

With  her  cap  border  flying  back,  and  her  arms  folded, 
Elsa  skirted  the  old  orchard  with  fleetness.  The  sound 
of  wheels  rolling  over  a little  wooden  bridge  half  a 
mile  below  the  house  caught  her  ears.  She  stopped. 

u There  they  go,  rolling  over  my  heart ! Lord  (Jod !” 
and  she  eyed  the  trunk  of  a venerable  plum-tree  with  a 
fierce  rigidity,  “ what  is  the  use  of  my  reading  the  Bible 
all  my  days,  if  I am  not  going  to  bear  it  better  than 
this  ?”  Something  in  the  look  of  the  tree  arrested  her, 
— she  darted  forward,  “ Upon  my  soul,  there’s  borers  in 
this  tree,  and  that’s  the  reason,”  scanning  the  branches, 
“ there’s  not  a plum  on  it.” 

The  tide  was  checked ; she  returned  to  the  house 
composed,  and  convinced  Mrs.  Clapp,  before  bedtime, 
that  she  was  an  uncommonly  cheerful  woman,  for  her 
age.  In  a week,  the  Clapps,  tenants  at  will,  were  under 
her  control,  and  she  began  to  feel  at  home. 


TWO  MEN. 


219 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

“ 6 A mighty  wind  arises,  roaring  seaward,  and  I go,’  ” 
said  Osmond,  one  wild  morning. 

“ Are  yon  c flying,  flying  south  ?’  ” Parke  asked. 

“ Yes  ; will  you  take  a pinion  with  me  ?” 

“ Certainly,  I am  ready  when  you  are.  I have  said 
nothing  of  my  purpose ; I thought  a suggestion  of  the 
sort  might  hurry  you  away.” 

“ I shall  go  to  General  Paez,  provided  he  is  in  retire- 
ment ; would  you  like  to  be  a mighty  cattle-hunter  on 
his  pampas  ?” 

“ I should  like  nothing  better.” 

“ Think  well  of  it ; — a life  of  adventure  once  begun 
never  ends,  except  by  the  casualties  incident  to  it, 
which  are  many.  You  have  something— a great  deal — 
to  keep  you  here  ; you  are  your  own  master.  I was  not 
when  I left  Crest ; not  until  I put  this  ancient  town  far 
behind  me  did  I know  what  it  was  to  belong  to  myself. 
You  have  almost  too  much  money  to  commence  my 
career  picturesquely.” 

“ Can’t  we  spend  it  ?” 

Osmond  snapped  his  fingers.  “ Ossa  on  Pelions 
of  it.” 

A glimmering  of  Osmond’s  disposition  dawned  in 
Parke’s  mind ; he  mused. 

“You  gave  up  your  share  of  your  grandfather’s  prop- 
erty, didn’t  you  ?”  he  asked. 


220 


TWO  MEN. 


“ If  I hadn’t  I should  have  made  ducks  and  drakes  of 
it.  Owing  to  your  mother,  I think,  my  pride  would  not 
allow  me,  so  I made  it  over  to  Philippa.  I had  a trifle 
then,  besides.” 

“ Poor  Philippa !” 

“ Don’t  be  Quixotic ; she  is  not  too  grateful  to  me, 
you  see.” 

“ I’ll  leave  the  best  of  mine  here.” 

“ Make  the  offer  to  your  father ; give  him  what  you 
don’t  want — the  income,  I mean.” 

“ As  much  as  he’ll  take,  of  course ; but  you  must 
know  that  he  has  been  as  generous  with  me  as  you  have 
been  with  Philippa.” 

“ That  is,  he  absolutely  refused  to  be  indebted  to  his 
wife.” 

“ It  appears  to  me  that  we  are  a lot  of  proud  fools  to- 
gether.  I’ll  go  and  confer  with  him  now.” 

“ You  don’t  mind  leaving  Philippa  ?”  Osmond  asked, 
experimentally. 

Parke  stopped — looked  into  the  recesses  of  his  hat. 

“ Yes,  by  Jove,  she  will  miss  me.  I hate  to  tell  her. 
What  can  she  do  in  this  cursed  spot  alone  ?” 

“ She  can  weave  a web,  like  Penelope.” 

“ But  no  suitors  will  drop  in.” 

“ Mr.  Ritchings.” 

“ That’s  over,  some  time  ago.” 

“ Sam  Rogers — her  paragon.” 

“ Old  Sam  is  a hero.  To  him  she  is  an  idol,  to  be 
worshipped  from  afar;  to  her  he  is  something  better 
than  her  dog,  only  she  hasn’t  one — a little  dearer  than 
my  horse.” 

“ You  put  him  on  a high  pedestal.” 


TWO  MEN. 


221 


“ He  is  a nolble  man,  but  a blockhead,  you  know.” 

Osmond  doubted  whether  he  was  so  much  a block- 
head, for  Elsa  had  given  him  a pretty  correct  impres- 
sion of  the  strength  of  Sam’s  character ; but  he  did  not 
mention  his  doubt. 

“ Philippa  is  cut  out  for  an  old  maid,”  continued 
Parke.  “ She  is  self-absorbed,  not  selfish — as  I have 
every  reason  to  know,  and  nobody  ever  seems  to  attract 
her ; she  is  the  most  impassive  creature  I ever  knew, 
and  the  coolest.” 

“ That  being  the  case,  I propose  to  send  her  a King 
Charles,  from  Kew  York.” 

It  was  a pleasant  thought,  Parke  said,  as  he  went  to 
look  for  Jason. 

After  he  had  gone,  Osmond  concluded  to  look  up 
Philippa,  and  study  her  a little.  He  discovered  her  in 
the  kitchen  with  a heated  face,  in  the  act  of  compound- 
ing cake. 

“ Those  little  tins,  those  little  tins,”  he  said,  “ remind 
me  of  my  boyhood’s  sins.” 

“ I expect,”  remarked  Mary,  “ you  scraped  the  inside 
of  ’em.” 

“ I did.” 

“ Were  you  punished  ?”  Philippa  asked. 

“ I was.” 

“ Laws,”  said  Mary,  “ I heard  you  were  never  pun- 
ished for  any  thing.” 

“ I was  punished  regularly  with  indulgence ; every 
soul  in  the  family  was  devoted  to  me — devoted  ; do  you 
understand  devotion,  Philippa  ?” 

“ I was  born  a Catholic,  you  know,”  she  answered, 
quietly  proceeding  into  the  parlor ; but  he  followed  her. 

19* 


222 


TWO  MEN. 


* 

“ Good  heavens  ! do  you  remember  the  day  of  your 
birth,  and  your  christening  ?” 

“ I remember  my  black  rosary  ; the  one  who  gave  me 
that  was  devoted  to  me,  I am  sure.55 

“ Who  was  it  ?” 

“ Philip.” 

“ The  deuce — your  cousin.  The  life  here,  though— 
you  like  it  ?” 

“ Well  enough  never  to  leave  it.” 

“ To  follow  no  one’s  fortunes  ?” 

“ The  Ignis  Fatuus  only  chases  his  brother.” 

“ When  I go  from  Crest  what  will  you  give  me  ?” 

She  hesitated  so  long,  thinking  that  he  meant  and 
wanted  money,  feeling  no  willingness  to  be  generous  to- 
wards him,  yet  anxious  to  oblige  him,  if  she  could  do  so 
without  conferring  a sense  of  obligation,  that  he  burst 
into  a laugh. 

“ Whose  child  are  you  ? What  hour  were  you  begot- 
ten? When  the  sordid  New  England  wind  blew?” 

The  cool  insolence  of  his  manner  enraged  her;  she 
shook  her  hair  back,  and  knit  her  brows. 

“Not  so  impassive,  after  all,”  he  thought,  as  she 
flashed  upon  him. 

“ You  make  me  feel,”  she  said,  with  her  words  coming 
from  tightened  lips,  “ the  torment  and  torture  of  life. 
Let  me  alone.  I’ll  tell  you,  though,  what  I shall  do 
with  your  money,  which  belongs  here — return  it  to 
Parke.  You  see  that  I am  ‘ devoted’  to  an  idea.” 

a You  are  not  devoted  to  him,  I trust.  If  so,  you  are, 
indeed,  devoted  to  an  idea — a hopeless  one.” 

Cooler  than  himself — cool,  indeed,  for  an  icy  chill 
crept  over  her — she  said,  in  a sharp,  appealing  tone, 


TWO  MEN. 


223 


“ Fathers  should  be  the  confidants  of  their  daughters’ 
feelings,  where  there  is  no  mother ; I confess  mine  to  you : 
I am  devoted  to  him.” 

A sad  groan  came  to  his  lips,  but  he  exclaimed  harsh- 
ly : “ What  stuff  have  you  in  your  head  about  woman’s 
constancy  and  sacrifice  ? But,  no  ! I know  you  better ; 
in  fact,  I understand  you  all  at  once.  If  we  are  not  the 
besotted  instruments  of  a logical  Fate,  what  are  we  ? I’ll 
test  it.”  A burning  blush  rose  in  his  face,  a wild  light 
rushed  into  his  eyes.  “Philippa,  will  you  join  my  for- 
tunes ? Will  you  go  to  South  America  with  me  ?” 

A spark  of  nature  was  elicited  in  both  at  last ; their 
faces  wore  the  same  eager,  passionate,  overcoming  ex- 
pression. For  an  instant  she  was  seized  with  his  no- 
madic spirit,  and  set  her  foot  forward  as  if  to  enter  upon 
his  free,  salient,  purposeless  life.  With  outstretched 
hands,  he  urged  her  in  a voice  so  altered  by  tenderness 
and  entreaty  that  she  wondered  at  the  feeling  of  resist- 
ance which  compelled  her  to  struggle  with  the  phantoms 
of  Liberty  and  Pleasure  which  his  words  had  evoked. 
He  saw  a cold  shade  drop  over  her  face,  and  divined 
that  he  could  not  shake  her  resolution.  He  was  bitterly 
tempted  for  a moment  to  tell  her  that  Parke  w~as  going 
with  him,  and  let  her  feel  how  narrow  had  been  the 
chance  between  her  and  the  happiness  she  was  trying  to 
buy,  but  he  forbore. 

“ I must  remain,”  she  said.  “ How  can  I tell,”  she 
added,  so  unaffectedly  he  could  hardly  help  smiling, 
“ whether  I could  bear  the  license  of  your  life  ? I succumb 
to  tradition  and  custom  because  I love  them.  But  if  these 
barriers  should  be  removed,  I feel  I have  that  within 


224 


TWO  MEN. 


which  could  rise,  and  overtop  all  excess.  When  are  you 
going  ?” 

“ At  an  early  day ; none  is  yet  named.  You  are  fixed, 
then?”  resuming  his  careless  manner;  “ granite  is  noth- 
ing to  you.” 

“ Stay  longer.” 

“ Entreat  me.” 

“ What  will  Parke  do  when  you  go  ?” 

“ Hang  Parke,  or  drown  him — a puppy’s  proper  fate. 
I am  sick  of  the  beauty — he  is  sweet,  though,  magnetic, 
and  has  a wonderfully  delicate  but  strong  power  of  self- 
assertion.  He  is  dull  beyond  a certain  limit,  however, 
and  is  profound  nowhere.  Do  you  agree  with  me  ?”  • 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  you  say  you  are  devoted  to  him  ?” 

“ You  left  me  here  a child — a child  loves  the  beauti- 
ful. Was  there  anything  lovely  in  Sarah  or  Jason? 
Parke  was  lovely,  and  I turned  to  him.  He  is  still  the 
same  to  me.  Though  I do  not  have  any  proof  of  his 
goodness,  I am  faithless  as  to  his  faults.  Tell  me,  if  you 
can,  how  do  certain  men  make  a universal  impression, 
which  they  do  not  account  for  in  words  or  works  ?” 

“ I see.  Parke,  Dante,  and  Shakspeare  must  be  great, 
because  they  have  made  us  believe  so.” 

She  nodded. 

“You  are  a kind  of  witch,  I believe ; curious  looking, 
too.” 

“I  know  I am  ugly,”  she  answered,  coloring  pain- 
fully. 

“ By  no  means.  You  have  good  eyes ; witches  always 
have.” 

“ And  diabolical,  cruel,  revengeful  yellow  hair.” 


TWO  MEN. 


225 


“ Why,  girl,  what  ails  you  ? you  are  no  conjurer,  at 
any  rate.  The  truth  is,  you  are  half  foreign ; in  your 
native  town  I have  seen  dozens  of  girls  like  you — with  a 
difference.” 

He  left  her  in  a melancholy  mood,  wishing  that  he  had 
not  disturbed  her  or  himself.  It  was  a foolish  and  haz- 
ardous experiment  he  had  been  trying ; she  might  have 
accepted  his  life,  which  was  not  fit  for  so  frail  and  unique 
a creature.  But  his  heart  had  been  set  in  motion ; it 
ploughed  through  and  through  him,  upturning  memo- 
ries, old  desires,  and  instigating  new  ones ; he  was  per- 
turbed with  the  pain  and  longing  of  a boy.  But  some- 
how his  melancholy  softened  him  to  thankfulness  that 
one  remained  with  power  to  convince  him  that  his  soul 
was  still  alive. 

Parke  found  Jason  at  the  dock,  preparing  to  tar  the 
seams  of  his  boat,  which  had  been  hauled  on  a raft ; he 
seated  himself  on  the  cap-log,  near  the  tar-pot. 

a You  are  just  in  time  to  keep  up  the  blaze  for  me,” 
said  Jason,  jumping  down  on  the  raft,  and  proceeding 
with  the  work.  Parke  collected  the  sticks  within  his 
reach  and  poked  them  into  the  fire,  feeling  unaccount- 
ably nervous ; his  heart  fluttered  and  his  hands  felt 
weak.  Suddenly  he  sprang  down  on  the  raft,  which 
tilted  into  the  water,  so  that  he  nearly  lost  his  balance. 
Jason  calmly  laid  down  the  tar-swab,  and  motioning 
Parke  towards  a box,  took  a seat  beside  him ; he  felt 
what  was  coming,  but  looked  phlegmatic.  Parke’s  eyes 
roved  over  the  bay,  whose  waters  were  almost  level 
with  his  sight,  with  a consciousness  that  he  had  been  in 
the  same  scene  before,  and  about  to  say  the  same  thing. 
The  faded  woods  opposite  the  rocky  points  shelving 


226 


TWO  MEN. 


into  the  sea,  the  islands  lifted  over  the  horizon,  the  hulls 
and  masts  looming  above  him,  the  stagnant  basin  they 
were  floating  in,  were  the  marshals  of  that  reality  and 
this  dream. 

“ The  tar  will  cool,”  said  Jason,  crossing  his  legs. 

44  I’ll  begin,  then,  what  I have  to  say.” 

His  voice  was  so  agitated  that  Jason  turned,  looked, 
and  pitied.  44  I can  guess  what  you  have  to  say, 
Parke.” 

44  Do  you  object  to  my  leaving  home  ?” 

44  No. 

44  I propose  to  live  elsewhere.” 

44  Why  ?” 

44  Why  should  I live  in  Crest  ?” 

44  Because  you  are  a son  of  the  soil.” 

44  So  you  were,  but  you  left  home.” 

44 1 owned  nothing,  not  even  a father’s  love.” 

44  Do  I own  the  latter  ?” 

44  Yes  ; but  I cannot  interfere  with  your  plans.” 

44  Then  I can  go  ?” 

Jason  walked  up  and  down  the  raft,  returned  to  his 
seat,  and  said : 44  Those  Generals  of  Independence  will 
use  up  your  money.” 

44  How  do  you  know  any  thing  about  them  ?” 

44  Do  you  suppose  that  I have  known  nothing  of  Os- 
mond’s career  in  Venezuela  ?” 

44  Will  you  manage  as  you  always  have  for  me  ?” 

44  If  you  go,  I desire  you  to  take  every  dollar  out  of 
my  hands ; the  old  uncertainties  connected  with  the 
wanderings  of  the  family  shall  not  be  renewed  in  my 
case.  I must  be  as  free  of  you  as  you  are  of  me.  Per- 
haps for  your  own  sake  it  is  best  that  you  should  go ; 


TWO  MEN. 


227 


your  prestige  is  gone.  I must  tell  you,  however,  that 
Osmond’s  hands  are  by  no  means  clean;  the  men  of 
your  race  have  single  vices,  and  run  them  hard.  I 
warn  you  against  him.  Moreover,  I ask  you  not  to  go. 
I ask  you  to  live  at  home  on  Philippa’s  account.” 

u She  is  willing,  of  course,”  cried  Parke,  with  heat. 

“ Has  she  said  so  ?” 

“ I have  not  told  her.” 

“ Go  and  tell  her,  then.” 

“ At  all  events,  I shall  go.” 

“ Very  well.  We  will  talk  business  in  that  case.” 


228 


TWO  MEN. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Pakke  went  to  see  Elsa  next,  and  for  the  sake  of  re- 
flection, perhaps,  walked  to  her  house,  a distance  of 
three  miles.  She  saw  him  coming  up  the  lane,  threshing 
the  thistles  with  a cane,  and  kicking  the  loose  pebbles 
down  the  gullies. 

46 1 am  barrelling  my  potatoes  to-day,”  she  screamed 
at  the  door,  when  he  came  within  hearing. 

44  I wish  you  would  include  me  with  them,”  he  replied, 
taking  her  hand.  She  drew  him  into  the  house,  to  her 
own  little  sitting-room,  and  bade  him  take  his  ease  on 
her  new  moreen-covered  lounge.  A wood  fire  burned 
on  the  hearth,  winch  led  to  inquiries  concerning  the 
merits  of  her  woodland,  and  then  she  asked  him  for 
news,  being  as  famished  as  a dog  for  the  article. 

44 1 am  going  to  Venezuela,  Elsa.” 

44  Vene — cat’s  foot.” 

44  Cat’s  paw,  possibly,  for  I mean  that  you  shall  tell 
Philippa  my  purpose.  An  impression  seems  to  have 
got  abroad  that  my  going  will  have  a disagreeable 
effect  upon  her,  which  effect  I do  not  like  to  face.” 

44 1 shan’t  do  any  such  thing  for  you,  sir.  I have 
withdrawn  my  finger  from  all  your  pies.  Since  I have 
eaten  humble  pie  with  you,  somehow  I have  lost  my 
relish  for  any  more  of  your  baking.  I don’t  think  your 
going  will  kill  Philippa,  however.  I suppose  Jason  is 
worried  about  her — there  is  nobody  else  to  take  her 
part*  he  is  apt  to  think  of  other  people’s  feelings.” 


TWO  MEN. 


229 


“ I never  thought  him  apt  that  way ; indeed,  he  is 
too  indifferent.  You  are  a cunning,  cruel  jade,  and  I 
am  sorry  I came  to  you.5’ 

She  was  angry  with  him  for  telling  her  that  what  she 
had  foreseen  and  waited  for  was  at  hand,  hut  rather  en- 
joyed his  calling  her  names.  Disposed  to  aggravate 
him,  she  said:  “At  any  rate,  Jason  knows  when  he  is 
in  the  right  place.  I must  say,  that  if  I admire  any 
thing,  I admire  a steadfast  disposition,  and  that  is  his.” 

“ I did  not  come  to  discuss  his  character.  However, 
I will  agree  with  you  on  that  point.  He  is  all  that  you 
say,  and  a great  deal  more.  I find  him  not  only  the 
right  kind  of  a father,  hut  a friend” 

uYet  he  consents  to  your  leaving  home,  and  with 
Osmond ?” 

“ Will  you,  or  will  you  not,  tell  Philippa  ?” 

“ Why  has  she  heen  kept  in  the  dark  till  now  ?” 

“ It  seems  to  he  considered  my  business  to  inform  her, 
and  hear  her  opposition.  She  is  so  queer,  though,  she 
may  not  mind  it  at  all.” 

“Now  you  are  lying.” 

“ You  and  Sam  Rogers  have  had  a quiet  way  of  hold- 
ing her  up  to  me  as  a terror  of  tacit  superiority.  We 
are  mutually  attached,  I hope,  hut  my  idea  of  attach- 
ment leaves  us  perfect  freedom  still.  I trust  she  would 
dislike  this  silent  interference  she  has  heen  made,  as 
much  as  I do.” 

“ Bats,  moles,  and  men  are  akin,”  thought  Elsa ; hut 
she  said  aloud,  “The  sooner  the  better.  You  talk  with 
her ; I refuse  flat  to  open  the  subject.  I am  going  up 
to  the  shore  about  dark,  and  I reckon  I’ll  stay  all  night, 
to  look  over  your  shirts.” 

20 


230 


TWO  MEN. 


“Never  mind  the  shirts.” 

“ Somebody  must  bear  them  in  mind,  or  you  won’t 
have  any  on  your  body — though  I don’t  know  as  the 
foreign  beasts  you  are  going  amongst  wear  such  things. 
I might  have  known  the  day  Osmond  Luce  came  back, 
that  you  would  go  off  with  him.  I did  look-  for  it  pretty 
soon  after.” 

“ His  influence  was  nothing.” 

“ There  is  some  good  in  him,  though,  if  you’ll  have 
patience  to  look  for  it.” 

“ Elsa !”  and  Parke  took  her  chin  in  his  hand,  com- 
pelling her  to  meet  his  eye,  “ between  man  and  woman 
now,  do  you  not  think  that  I had  better  go  from  Crest  ?” 

“ I think  that  you  could  not  do  a wiser  thing,  and  I 
hope  you  will  stay  forever.” 

“Enough  ! I am  off.” 

The  thistles  were  unmolested,  and  the  pebbles  were 
suffered  to  rattle  without  his  aid  on  the  walk  home. 
Instead  of  going  in  at  the  main  door,  he  entered  the 
premises  by  the  barnyard  gate.  He  saw  Gilbert  milk- 
ing in  a corner,  and,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  Phil- 
ippa going  up  the  garden  with  a shawl  over  her  head. 
A resolve  took  possession  of  him.  Waiting  till  she  was 
beyond  view,  he  leaped  the  fence,  and  followed  her 
slowly,  till  he  saw  her  seated  among  the  trees  on  the 
top  of  the  hill.  A line  of  crimson  light  gleamed  in  the 
west — the  arc  of  sunset ; overhead  the  purple  clouds  of 
November  rolled  together  and  drew  apart  in  the  tumult 
of  the  sea- wind,  which  tossed  them  as  it  tossed  the  waves 
whose  deep  moan  rose  and  fell  round  him  as  if  baffled 
by  the  height  he  had  reached. 


TWO  MEN.  231 

“ I thought  I saw  you,”  Philippa  said  quickly.  “ Isn’t 
it  cold  up  here  ?” 

“ Too  cold  to  spend  the  evening,  but  I like  it  just  now. 
What  are  you  up  here  for  ?” 

“ I often  come.”. 

“ I had  no  idea  you  indulged  in  sunset  reveries.  How 
far  out  to  sea  can  you  look  ?” 

Climbing  the  rock  against  which  she  rested,  he  peered 
through  the  bare  boughs  rattling  over  her  head,  and  con- 
tinued : “ Oh  yes,  the  high  bank  at  the  south  end  of 
Prince  Island  is  illuminated  with  the  rays  of  the  sun 
that  has  left  us,  and  the  outlet  next  it  looks  like  a dark 
tunnel.  Don’t  it  make  you  think  of  Sam  Rogers  when 
you  look  out  there  ?”  And  he  carelessly  dropped  down 
beside  her. 

“ I never  look  there.” 

“ What  do  you  look  at  ?” 

“ Myself.” 

A conviction  that  his  task  might  be  more  difficult 
than  he  had  supposed  fastened  upon  him,  but  it  steeled 
his  purpose,  and  somewhat  increased  his  irritation  against 
those  who  had  thrown  it  upon  him. 

“ Give  me  a corner  of  your  shawl  to  keep  off  the 
wind — there — this  is  comfortable.”  His  arm  was  round 
her  waist,  and  her  head  was  against  his  shoulder.  “Will 
you  look  out  seaward  for  me  ?” 

“ Why  should  I?” 

“ Figuratively  speaking,  I shall  be  behind  the  outlet ; 
literally,  I am  going  away  with  your  father.” 

Her  fingers  twisted  in  the  lapels  of  his  coat ; she  held 
him  down  with  a strength  that  made  him  catch  his 
breath  with  the  effort  to  release  himself. 


232 


TWO  MEN. 


u You  shall  not  go.” 

“ Oh  yes,  Philippa,”  and,  tearing  from  her,  he  hounded 
to  his  feet,  “ and  you  must  consent.  Do  you  want  me 
to  remain  in  this  wretched  spot  ? I can  he  little  to  you 
— miserable  myself.  You  must  make  .some  change,  too. 
You  have  the  right  and  the  means  to  he  free  and  happy.” 

The  sea  roared  in  her  ears,  the  wind  tossed  her  hair 
across  her  eyes ; she  threw  hack  her  head  madly,  and  he 
caught  the  knowledge  in  her  face  which  struck  him  like 
lightning,  and  she  rolled  over  at  his  feet  as  if  she  were 
stone  dead. 

“ Why,  she  loves  me !”  he  said,  in  a loud,  stupefied 
voice,  looking  down  upon  her.  “ My  God,  what  is  there 
in  me  to  love  ?” 

He  tried  to  raise  her  from  the  ground,  hut  she  lay  like 
lead,  heavy  and  lifeless.  He  shook  her,  ruhhed  her 
hands,  pinched  her  cheeks,  and  at  last  she  opened  her 
eyes. 

“ I want  you,”  she  said. 

uNTo,  you  don’t.  I am  a worthless  fellow.  Do  you 
desire  Charlotte  Lang’s  lover,  husband,  in  your  presence 
always  ?” 

“ I am  so  dizzy,”  she  said,  trying  to  get  up. 

u I know  you  are.”  And  he  wrapped  her  shawl  round 
her,  kissing  her  hand,  and  then  trying  to  kiss  her  lips. 

“ Don’t  kiss  me.” 

u Yery  well.” 

“ If  you  do,  I must  remember  it,”  and  she  hurst  into 
a wild  fit  of  crying,  which  drove  Parke  to  his  wits’  end. 
The  tears  fell  from  his  own  eyes  without  his  knowing  it. 
They  descended  the  hill,  hut  stopped  again  in  the  or- 
chard, as  if  by  mutual  consent. 


TWO  MEN. 


233 


“ I suppose  you  think  me  a dreadful  fool,  Philippa,  but 
I never  dreamed  of  this.” 

44  It  was  always  so.” 

Again  she  looked  at  him  with  such  an  unutterable 
passion  in  her  face,  that  he  knew  he  stood  by  the  portals 
of  a world  he  alone  could  enter,  and,  that  once  shut  from 
his  vision,  he  would  never  see  it  again.  His  own  act  had 
shut  it  out  forever,  and  her  innocence  could  not  compre- 
hend it ! 

44  Now,  now,  by  God,  I will  go.  I am  not  base  enough 
to  take  you — to  give  myself  to  you.” 

She  loosed  her  hold,  and  they  walked  on  again. 

44  I am  not  sorry,”  she  said  in  a moment,  restored  to 
that  calmness  which  the  sea  shows  after  a storm,  44  that  I 
have  told  you  the  motive  of  my  life ; it  may  protect  you.” 

44  It  may,  but  I shall  not  return ; and,  wherever  I am, 
I shall  escape  from  that  protection,  if  possible.” 

Going  on  as  if  he  had  not  spoken,  and  still  calmer, 
she  said  : 44  Telling  it,  has  prevented  me  from  dragging 
it  round  as  a purpose.  Telling  it,  has  put  it  to  death 
with  so  much  ease  ! All  the  care  and  fostering  of  this 
motive  is  buried  in  the  grave  of  your  knowledge.  Its 
ghost  will  never  rise.  Was  I not  foolish  with  plans — 
which  even  God’s  judgment  did  not  avert  ?” 

It  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  speak ; he  had  dis- 
missed the  subject. 

46 1 shall  always  love  you,  though,”  she  concluded  as 
he  opened  the  porch-door, 44  because  you  are  beautiful.” 

An  expression  of  self-contempt  passed  over  his  face ; 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  appreciate  the  value  of  be- 
ing loved  for  that. 

Elsa  was  warming  her  hands  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

20* 


234 


TWO  MEN. 


“ Ha  !”  slie  exclaimed,  surveying  their  pale  faces — 
“ hum ; I have  been  looking  round  this  kitchen,  and  it 
is  just  as  I expected — a place  for  nothing,  and  nothing 
in  its  place.  I told  Parke  his  going  away  would  not 
kill  you.” 

“ ISTo  more  than  your  going  did.” 

“ Oh,  lud  a massy !” 

Parke,  lighting  a cigar,  went  out  by  the  same  door 
that  he  had  just  entered.  Who  can  tell  what  motive  or 
train  of  thought  led  him  to  Mrs.  Lang’s  ? Without 
knocking,  in  the  old  familiar  way,  he  entered  her  house 
once  more.  She,  with  Clarice,  was  sitting  by  a table, 
singing  hymns  in  rotation  from  a little  hymn-book  in  her 
hand.  Her  eyes  fell  on  Parke,  and  she  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  a line  to  reply  to  his  “ Good-evening.”  Clarice 
did  not  speak.  He  threw  off  his  overcoat,  took  a chair 
near  the  fireplace,  and  sat  buried  in  thought,  smoking 
'cigar  after  cigar.  The  loud  tick  of  the  clock,  the  wind 
shaking  the  windows,  and  the  suppressed  yawns  of  Mrs. 
Lang  only  disturbed  the  silence,  for  Clarice  was  as  still 
as  Parke.  The  evening  wore  on.  What  fascination  held 
his  eyes  to  the  consuming  brands  ? Did  he  see  Mephis- 
topheles  in  his  scarlet  coat  and  cock’s  feather,  with  his 
eternal  grin  ? Did  he  hear  Margaret  cry  : “ Day  ! yes, 
it  is  growing  day  ! The  last  day  is  breaking  in  ! My 
wedding-day  it  was  to  be.” 

A despairing,  louder  yawn  from  Mrs.  Lang  roused 
him  at  last ; he  threw  his  cigar  in  the  fire,  turned  from 
it,  and,  in  a low  voice,  asked  her  if  there  was  any  last 
favor  he  could  do  for  her. 

“You  have  done  all  the  favor  you  could  do,”  Clarice 
interposed,  before  her  mother  could  speak.  “ Sent  one 
of  us  to  the  grave.” 


TWO  MEN. 


235 


“I  know  it,  Clarice,”  he  replied  gently.  *She  looked 
at  him  for  the  first  time  since  his  entrance.  A deep  sad- 
ness was  in  his  eyes,  and  his  face  had  grown  sharp. 

44  Do  you  mourn  for  her’?”  she  hastily  asked. 

“ I cannot  tell  you  a lie.  No.” 

44  Clarice,  you  stop,”  ordered  Mrs.  Lang. 

44  I have  come  to  say,  that  she  has  sent  me  away.” 

44  Oh,  pity,  pity,”  crie$  Mrs.  Lang ; 44  it  would  noffbe 
so  if  we  were  anywhere  else.” 

44  Slave,”  hissed  Clarice,  44  to  take  part  against  your- 
self.” % 

Parke  rose  and  threw  his  coat  over  his  arm. 

44  Stop  you,  Clarice,”  Mrs.  Lang  continued.  44  I’ll  call 
it  the  ole  story,  then ; don’t  I know  that  men  are  men, 
and  women  are  women,  and  I think  it  is  foolish  for  him 
to  give  up  his  birthright  for  a mess  of  pottage.” 

44  Go,  will  you  ?”  begged  Clarice. 

44  As  I would  take  Charlotte  always  under  my  wings, 
so,  Parke,  I will  take  your  part,”  Mrs.  Lang  added. 

44  W ell,  then,  there  is  no  enmity  between  us.  Good- 
by.” 

44  Farewell,”  she  said,  and  then  in  an  undertone,  44  It’s 
all  done  right  now,  as  the  Lord  would  have  it.” 

Clarice  took  up  the  lamp  to  follow  him  out,  and  shut 
the  door  upon  her  mother. 

44  Forget  me,  Clarice,  in  mercy  to  me.” 

44  It  is  like  going  to  the  grave  again,  to  part  with  you, 
for  all  that  I have  hatefully  said.  You  were  the  link 
that  attached  me  to  a world  I do  not  belong  to.  Pray 
that  I may  die.  You  are  lucky,  and  your  prayer  may 
be  answered.” 

44  If  you  desire  it,  and  for  my  own  death  too.” 


236 


TWO  MEhT. 


They  stood  in  silence  a moment,  and  then  parted, 
never  to  meet  again. 

“ Much  more  of  this  business  will  kill  me,”  he  said  to 
Osmond  the  next  day. 

“Let  us  begone.  You  will  rise  elastic  in  another  at- 
mosphere. Has  Jason  transferred  your  bank  stock?” 

“ He  is  about  ready  with  his  statistics.” 

named  Garcia  & Co.,  who  have  a branch  house  in 
New  York,  for  your  bankers.  Jason  is  singular;  why 
does  he  want  to  wash  his  hands  of  all  your  filthy  lucre  ?” 

“Between  you  and  nj^,  he  has  no  great  opinion  of 
managing  for  the  Parkes.” 

“ Right  enough.  He  is  a brick,  though.” 

“Regular.” 

“ Made  himself  after  the  pattern  of  the  Hebrew  bricks, 
for  he  wasn’t  worth  a straw  when  he  started.” 

“ Here  he  is  now.” 

“Now,”  said  Jason,  entering,  “as  far  as  business  is 
concerned,  you  can  go.” 

“ c O’er  the  glad  waters  of  the  dark  blue  sea,’  then,”  said 
Osmond. 

“Better  take  Byron  along,”  said  Jason. 

“No  books  allowed.  Jason,  you  are  an  aboriginal;  I 
should  think  my  way  of  life  would  suit  you.” 

“ Is  yours  a community  of  equal  rights  ?” 

“ If  we  can  take  them.” 

“ Am  I really  going  ?”  asked  Parke  of  Philippa,  as 
she  came  in. 

“ It  seems  so.” 

“ I mind  leaving  you,  girl,”  said  Osmond.  “ Take  care 
of  her,  Jason.” 

“She  will  take  care  of  herself.” 


TWO  MEN. 


237 


“ Keep  yourself  safe,  old  fellow,  for  she  is  alone.” 

“ Hadn’t  you  better  bestow  that  advice  on  yourself?” 

“ Last  words  don’t  amount  to  much,”  Parke  observed. 

“ It  is  respectable,  though,  to  say  something,”  an- 
swered Osmond. 

At  the  last  moment,  Parke  sought  Philippa,  and  was 
alone  with  her  till  Osmond  sent  him  away. 

“ Philippa,”  said  her  father,  “ a man  does  not  escape 
from  the  environments  of  ten  or  twenty  years  scot-free, 
many  times.” 

u You  mean,  that  we  may  not  meet  again  ?” 

“ That  is  it.” 

“ Take  me  up  in  your  arms,  as  you  did  on  board  the 
ship,  years  ago,  and  I will  kiss  you.” 

He  caught  her  in  his  embrace,  and  when  he  released 
her  his  tears  were  on  her  face,  and  she  turned  away 
weeping. 


238 


TWO  MEN. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Tone  and  color  were  wanting  in  the  details  of  family 
life  which  were  now  mechanically  performed  by  Philippa 
and  Mary.  Excepting  these,  each  day  was  a disinte- 
gration, and  every  person  went  apart  to  enjoy  or  suffer 
an  Existence  which  appeared  to  depend  upon  itself 
merely. 

Mary  was  hypochondriacal,  and  the  grasshopper  was 
a burden  ; her  mental  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  progress 
of  an  imaginary  liver  complaint,  an  impending  cancer, 
or  a slow  consumption  ; the  falling  of  the  sky  would 
have  been  connected  with  her  ailments,  and  noticeable 
only  on  that  account.  She  had  long  had  an  inclination 
for  chronic  complaints,  but  Elsa’s  unsparing  ridicule  had 
kept  it  under ; when  she  left,  it  cropped  out.  Gilbert, 
her  husband,  naturally  a silent  man,  became  more  so  un- 
der this  tic-douloureux  influence ; home  was  finally  but  a 
deposit  for  clean  shirts,  his  Bible,  and  the  temple  of  his 
meals.  Year  by  year  he  had  grown  a part  of  the  “ chor- 
ing”  institution  which  belongs  to  all  respectable  families, 
for  Jason  had  given  him  full  power  to  trade,  train  and 
work  the  live  stock,  and  it  was  more  interesting  to  him 
than  human  beings.  Any  thing  transpiring  outside  of 
his  occupation  should  be  disposed  of  and  forgotten  as 
soon  as  possible ; death,  marriage,  religion,  politics, 
caused  time  to  be  lost,  which  must  be  made  up  by  extra 
diligence  in  his  business.  But  Gilbert  was  most  re- 


TWO  MEN.  239 

spectable  in  all  his  ways,  and  bore  a high  reputation  as 
a “ hired  man.” 

Mary  made  various  comments  on  the  subject  of 
Parke’s  leaving  home,  which  he  answered  promptly, 
and  so  completely  that  it  was  not  renewed. 

“ Philippa  thinks  she  feels  bad  about  his  being  away,” 
said  Mary,  “ and  she  does ; but  she  would  feel  worse  if 
she  was  me : besides,  she  is  a young  girl.” 

“ I expect  she  does,”  Gilbert  answered  ; “ and  what  if 
she  does  ? Young  gals  always  feel  bad  about  something ; 
they  haven’t  got  any  thing  else  to  do ; it’s  a pity  there 
is  gals.” 

“ Mr.  Auster  does  less  than  ever ; but  he  is  no  trouble 
at  all  in  the  house.” 

“It  isn’t  necessary  for  him  to  negotiate  round — that’s 
my  business.  Folks  that  have  learned  trades  never 
amount  to  much.  As  for  trouble,  I should  like  to  know 
if  men  are  ever  troublesome  ? they  don’t  meddle  with 
things  of  no  concern  to  them.” 

“Nothing  must  be  meddled  with  but  cattle,  accord- 
ing to  your  way  of  thinking.  Cattle  are  not  of  much 
importance.” 

“ If  there  was  more  attention  paid  to  cattle,  there 
wouldn’t  be  so  much  trouble  among  folks.  If  you 
knew  something  about  critturs,  perhaps  you  would  be 
easier;  take  my  advice  at  present,  though,  and  just  at- 
tend to  your  house-work,  and  your  ague,  and  let  the 
rest  go.” 

So  Philippa  was  allowed  to  rest  under  a cloud,  with- 
out further  notice.  It  was  a murky,  smothering  vapor 
which  enveloped  her ; her  sympathies  were  exhausted ; 
she  found  nothing  efficacious  in  herself,  or  in  those 


240 


TWO  MEN. 


about  her.  She  said  of  herself,  that  the  threads  of  her 
being  were  ravelled,  because  that  which  had  knit  them 
together  into  a consistent  web  had  vanished,  and  could 
nowhere  be  found. 

Jason  took  to  fancy-carpentering;  day  after  day  she 
heard  the  whistling  of  his  plane  or  the  turning-lathe,  in 
a little  room  which  he  had  converted  into  a workshop. 
His  labor  must  have  been  tedious  and  slow,  for  no  arti- 
cle appeared  as  its  result ; but,  as  Mary  said,  he  was  no 
trouble.  Philippa  saw  little  of  him,  and  the  time  she 
passed  in  his  presence  belonged  merely  to  the  routine 
with  which  he  was  connected.  But  the  cold,  dull, 
spiritless  sphere  where  she  moved  contained  a vivid, 
palpable  core,  which  the  virgin  silence  of  his  soul  pre- 
vented him  from  laying  bare.  To  his  simple  mind  it 
appeared  as  if  all  nature  now  had  his  secret — or  why 
should  he  feel  so  strange  a joy  in  those  wild  winter 
days ! The  driving  snows,  the  cold  rains  which  dashed 
round  the  walls,  the  misty  sea  sobbing  under  the  rim 
on  the  shore,  or  whirling  on  the  tide  the  jagged  ice,  or 
congealing  in  gray  calm  the  northern  gales  which  bore 
the  prolonged  cries  of  the  deep  into  the  naked  woods, 
the  wintry  sunlight  which  fell  on  their  delicate  black 
boughs — on  the  level,  brown  sodden  fields,  the  moon- 
light rolling  over  the  ancient  town  in  a tumult  of 
clouds — exhilarated  him  as  with  wine. 

The  winter  was  an  awful  one.  Storm  followed  storm ; 
between  December  and  February  the  roads  were  scarce- 
ly passable,  and  no  vessel  put  out  to  sea.  The  old  peo- 
ple talked  of  the  memorial  snows  and  gales  in  Crest, 
and  said  none  severer  were  in  their  annals.  The  house 
was  so  cold  that  Philippa  closed  the  parlor  where  the 


TWO  MEN. 


241 

piano  was,  and  the  dining-room  connected  with  it,  leav- 
ing for  occupation  the  small  east  parlor,  which  was  at- 
tached to  the  kitchen  by  a square  passage — a bedroom 
in  the  Squire’s  time.  She  gave  no  reason  for  selecting 
this  room,  nor  did  she  explain  why  she  brought  from  the 
garret  a set  of  old  Indian  chintz  curtains,  whose  deep  yel- 
low ground  was  covered  with  long-tailed  macaws  in 
brilliant  dyes,  and  hung  them  before  the  windows — 
there  were  three  in  the  room,  two  facing  the  terrace, 
beyond  which,  through  the  leafless  shrubs,  a line  of  sea 
was  visible,  and  one  in  the  end  wall,  from  which  the 
prospect  was  cut  off  by  the  row  of  Scotch  firs  which  bor- 
dered that  side  of  the  yard.  To  this  window  she  brought 
her  work-basket,  inkstand,  portfolio,  and  a few  books ; 
but  she  never  looked  out  of  the  front  windows,  always 
keeping  the  curtains  down.  Here  she  set  up  a method- 
ical system  of  passing  all  the  hours  of  daylight,  and  to 
J ason  the  spot  grew  more  and  more  intelligible.  His 
meals  were  served  there,  and  in  the  evening  he  allowed 
himself  a chair  by  the  fire  while  he  smoked  a cigar. 
Never  in  the  habit  of  conversing  with  her,  his  silence 
was  not  remarked,  and  she  made  no  effort  to  break  it. 
As  neither  had  discerned  the  beginning  of  the  drama 
which  united  them  years  ago,  and  as  one  was  blind,  and 
the  other  dumb — “ what  sequel?”  Fate,  however,  was 
in  her  house,  and  as  much  at  home  in  that  insignificant 
spot,  with  those  insignificant  persons,  as  she  was  when 
she  sat  watching  Napoleon  on  his  march  to  Russia. 
While  J ason  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  evening,  Philippa  re- 
mained by  the  window  sewing  interminable  seams; 
when  he  left  the  room,  she  folded  her  work,  and,  after 
turning  down  the  lamp,  moved  to  the  hearth,  and  rumi- 
21 


242 


TWO  MEN. 


nated  by  the  firelight  till  bedtime.  Her  thoughts  were 
not  confided  to  the  portfolio  even,  for  she  never  opened 
it;  perhaps  their  endless  repetition  required  no  aid. 
Though  the  same  ground  was  canvassed  night  after 
night,  the  embers  and  ashes  made  no  reply ; they  lis- 
tened in  obstinate  silence  to  her  questioning  cries.  Why 
was  it  ordered  that  she  should  have  no  wishes  granted  ? 
Had  she  asked  so  much?  Were  the  environments  of 
her  life  so  pleasant  naturally  that  they  must  be  beset 
with  crosses?  Was  it  supposed  that  she  could  bear 
these  crosses  with  resignation,  or  cast  them  away  as  the 
evils  of  a day  ? These  she  asked,  with  a dogged  hate 
towards  the  power  she  questioned.  Jason  guessed  the 
tenor  of  her  feelings,  and,  until  he  heard  her  foot  upon 
the  stairs,  the  signal  that  she  was  going  to  bed,  he  lurked 
in  some  dark  room  or  passage ; and  then  went  back  to 
her  place,  and  looked  into  the  fire,  and  round  the  walls, 
as  if  he  might  find  some  clue  by  which  to  lead  her  from 
the  labyrinth  of  her  misery.  His  soul  at  this  period,  and 
in  such  moments,  if  delineated,  would  make  a picture  as 
affecting  and  as  incomprehensible  as  those  which  travel- 
lers discover  in  strange  lands,  where  Nature  creates  and 
wastes  things  of  beauty,  which  thus  accidentally  fall 
under  human  vision  for  the  first  and  last  time. 

Happily  there  is  compensation  for  the  soul  for  the  loss 
of  all  it  can  create.  Jason’s  spirit,  pure  and  simple  as 
the  elements,  was  dominated  by  an  absolute  and  pro- 
found sentiment  that  made  the  life-long  wilderness  of  his 
heart  blossom  like  the  rose.  He  was  not  happy,  he  was 
without  hope ; yet  every  hour  was  exquisitely  dear  and 
necessary  to  him.  Philippa,  for  whom  he  lived — his 
consciousness  now  dared  to  own,  for  whom  he  would  die 


TWO  MEN. 


243 


• — existed  in  the  exclusive  atmosphere  divided  between 
them  only ; so  surely  was  she  enclosed  with  him,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  the  fact  had  been  accomplished  by  a band 
of  conspirators,  who  carried  out  by  intuition  the  wishes 
he  had  never  expressed.  For  the  present  this  sentiment 
sufficed  him ; its  power  paralyzed  its  inevitable  growth. 
But  the  time  approached  when  it  would  no  longer  con- 
fine him,  when  the  symbols  which  now  enchanted  would 
mock  him  to  break  them  like  straw. 

Week  glided  after  week,  leaving  the  inmates  of  the 
old  mansion  imprisoned  in  their  ways,  as  fixed,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, as 

“ Those  old  portraits  of  old  kings 
That  watch  the  sleepers  from  the  wall,” 

in  the  Sleeping  Beauty’s  palace. 

The  last  of  February  he  launched  his  boat  again,  and, 
while  he  sailed  over  the  bay,  he  summed  up  the  days 
which  had  passed  without  an  object,  without  intentions, 
and  thought  their  flight  had  been  rapid  as  an  arrow’s, 
while  the  flight  of  other,  ordinary  days  was  fluttering 
and  devious,  like  flocks  of  birds. 


244 


TWO  MEK. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Philippa,  with  her  chin  on  the  sill,  was  looking  out 
of  the  parlor  window  one  morning  at  the  black  stalks 
protruding  from  patches  of  ice,  and  the  brown  birds 
that  hopped  in  the  fir-branches,  or  ran  over  the  snow 
with  alert  dipping  motions,  and  thinking  that  she  should 
be  sorry  when  the  winter  was  over.  She  had  felt  it  a 
protection,  shielding  her  mood  with  its  inclement  spirit. 
With  the  spring,  she  must  resume  something  of  her  old 
life.  The  twigs  yonder,  that  had  kept  upright  in  spite 
of  the  winter  storms — what  were  they  hoping? — that 
they  might  drop  at  last,  when  new  leaves  pushed  through 
the  mould?  Fresh  leaves,  blossoms,  and  fruit!  Her 
faded  self  was  apart  from  them — yet  the  breath  of 
spring  must  have  touched  her,  for  she  thought  of  the 
deserted  hill,  its  rocks,  the  old  cedars,  and.  the  oaks. 
Then  the  picture  of  the  house,  opened,  as  it  used  to  be 
in  summer,  rose  before  her ; she  heard  the  sound  of  the 
summer  sea  again,  and  felt  its  cool,  moist  balm  in  the 
darkened  rooms ; its  murmur  crept  into  the  parlor  where 
the  piano  stood,  and  mingled  with  the  melody  of  a wild 
pathetic  waltz,  whose  eternal  round  involved  Parke 
forever  and  forever ! 

She  rushed  to  the  front  window,  thrust  the  curtains 
apart,  and,  jumping  on  a chair,  tried  to  get  a glimpse 
of  the  outlet  of  the  bay.  The  tide  was  out,  for  the 
boulders  on  Gull’s  Point  stood  high  out  of  the  water ; 
behind  them  was  the  outlet — a purple  bar  of  sea  and 


TWO  MEN. 


245 


cloud  joined  together.  A boat  shot  within  the  range 
of  her  vision,  whose  sail  loomed  against  the  rocks ; its 
hull  bulged  out  of  the  water,  and  its  side  ploughed  the 
waves ; she  longed  to  be  in  it,  and  steering  for  another 
world,  which  might  give  her  Crest  as  it  had  been  in  the 
past.  She  made  a descent  from  the  chair,  and  went  into 
the  kitchen. 

44  Mary,”  she  asked,  44  do  you  think  Mr.  Auster  is  out 
with  his  boat  ?” 

44  He  has  been  outside  the  Point  every  day  this  week. 
He  calls  the  weather  mild . It  is  blowing  great  guns 
outside,  I’ll  warrant ; but  if  he  likes  it  it  is  all  right. 
Mrs.  Rogers  has  sent  you  a bit  of  a billet  by  Bill  Smith’s 
boy ; he  told  me  what  was  in  it.  She  wants  to  come 
and  spend  to-morrow  afternoon  with  you ; she  has  got 
some  news  to  bring.” 

44  Certainly ; where’s  the  boy  ?” 

“He  is  coming  back  for  the  answer  when  he  darn 
pleases,  he  said,  which  will  be  in  the  course  of  an 
hour.  We  ought  to  make  cake;  do  you  recollect  how 
long  it  is  since  you  made  any  ?” 

“No.” 

“ ’Twas  the  day  when  your  father  came  in,  and  said 
the  little  tins  reminded  him  of  his  sins — the  very  last  of 
October.” 

“ And  he  said,  4 Come ,’  ” Philippa  murmured.  44  If  I 
had  answered  4 Yes what  should  I be  with  them?” 

Mary  stared  at  her,  and  raising  her  voice,  as  if  ad- 
dressing a deaf  person,  asked,  44  You  don’t  realize,  I 
guess,  that  you  have  been  eating  my  doughnuts,  and 
cookies,  and  gingerbread  all  this  time ; plenty  of  them, 
such  as  they  were.” 

21* 


246 


TWO  MEN. 


Philippa’s  eyes  were  fixed  on  some  remote  boundary ; 
she  did  not  hear  Mary,  who  peevishly  exclaimed : “ She’s 
off  to  South  America.  I trust  she  will  get  back  in  time 
to  give  that  boy  an  answer ; he  is  a sass-box,  that  boy.” 

But  Philippa  was  nearer  home,  and  grappling  with 
an  irritating  conviction,  which  the  recollection  of  that 
interview  with  her  father  caused.  If,  at  this  moment, 
she  was  with  Parke,  she  knew  there  would  be  a sedi- 
ment in  her  satisfaction,  because  her  plans  would  still 
be  thwarted.  Away  from  Crest,  he  could  not  be  to  her 
what  she  had  believed  he  would  be  everywhere.  The 
conviction  was  humiliating,  for  it  proved  that  he  was 
not  single  in  her  heart,  but  surrounded  by  other  ideas, 
and  selfish  ones. 

The  boy  returned,  and  her  revery  was  broken.  A 
message  was  sent  to  Mrs.  Rogers ; and  Philippa,  roused 
with  the  necessity  of  doing  away  her  ill  opinion  of  her- 
self by  exertion  in  somebody’s  behalf,  not  only  made 
cake,  but  went  all  over  the  house,  opened  closets,  draw- 
ers, and  windows.  By  night,  she  was  in  a different 
mood.  Mary  noticed  the  change.  She  had  heard  an 
unwonted  slamming  of  doors,  and  mentioned  it  to  Gil- 
bert, who  replied  that  he  supposed  she  was  feeling  her 
oats.  When  Jason  came  home,  wet,  cold,  and  hungry, 
Philippa  had  subsided  into  her  old  place  by  the  window, 
and  was  engaged  with  a book.  While  he  was  drinking 
his  tea  with  wondering  eyes,  he  noticed  that  the  long- 
closed  curtains  before  the  front  windows  were  drawn 
apart,  and  asked  her  if  she  had  been  looking  for  spring. 

“No,”  she  answered,  “has  it  come?” 

“ I heard  a frog  last  night ; don’t  the  verse-makers 
call  the  frog  4 spring’s  harbinger  ?’  ” 


TWO  MEN.  247 

“ I don’t  read  verses;  but  I fancy  it  was  the  cowslip 
and  the  violet  instead.” 

“What  are  you  reading?'’ 

“Robinson  Crusoe.” 

“Robinson  Crusoe  !” 

He  finished  his  tea  in  silence,  and  she  went  on  with 
her  book. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  he  knocked  the  ashes  from 
his  cigar,  and  asked  her  if  she  intended  to  plant  the 
terrace. 

“I  have  not  thought  about  it;  the  geraniums  are 
dead  in  the  cellar,  Mary  says.” 

“Shall  I send  for  some  new  ones?” 

“ I don’t  care.” 

“ So  I thought.” 

“ I never  was  very  fond  of  flowers,”  she  answered  in 
an  apologetic  tone,  shutting  her  book. 

“Why  don’t  Ritchings  come  here  any  more?”  he 
asked  abruptly. 

“ He  was  here  last  week.  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Rogers 
has  asked  for  an  invitation  to  pass  to-morrow  afternoon 
with  me.” 

“ She  has  heard  from  Sam,  then.  What  is  Mr.  Ritch- 
ings doing  ? How  is  his  sore  throat  ?” 

“ Poor  Mr.  Ritchings !” 

“ Why  is  he  poor  ? Because  he  is  madly  in  love  with 
you  ?” 

The  tone  of  his  voice  was  savage,  and  she  looked  at 
him,  coloring  with  surprise. 

“ A woman  despises  a man,”  he  continued,  “ for  loving 
her,  unless  she  happens  to  return  his  love  ; is  it  not  so  ? 
Inform  me ; I am  green  about  the  sentiments.” 


248 


TWO  MEN. 


“ Jason !” 

“How  is  it,  I ask,  between  you  and  the  parson? 
Have  you  a contempt  for  him  ?” 

An  angry  gesture  was  all  her  answer.  , 

“ Why  don’t  you  pity  him  ?” 

“ Pity  a man  ?” 

“ Oh,  a man  needs  it,  I assure  you,  more  than  a woman 
ever  does.” 

“You  may  console  Mr.  Ritchings,  since  that  is  your 
opinion,”  she  answered,  leaving  the  room. 

“Every  evening,”  he  said  to  himself,  “for  three 
months,  she  has  kept  me  in  this  place,  and  then,  by  some 
damnable  force  or  unrelenting  magnetism,  compelled 
me  to  leave  it ; but  to-night  I have  sent  her  away, — not 
in  a nice  manner,  perhaps, — but  she  is  gone,  and  I feel  as 
if  the  room  was  in  a state  of  arrest.” 

He  looked  over  the  little  table  which  stood  by  the 
window ; it  was  more  disordered  than  usual,  and  his  eye 
fell  on  a daguerreotype.  He  recognized  it,  and  opened 
the  case.  It  contained  a picture  of  his  wife,  taken  some 
ten  years  before.  She  looked  at  him  from  behind  the 
glass,  with  her  cold,  hard,  glittering  eyes ; the  lines  of 
her  mouth,  the  black  crisp  curls  over  her  polished  fore- 
head, were  no  more  rigid  in  the  picture  than  he  remem- 
bered them  in  life.  It  was  a stern  relief  to  gaze  at  the 
face  which  had  always  been  inscrutable  to  him.  Could 
there  have  been  any  communion  between  their  spirits, 
he  would  have  said:  “Behold  me  without  the  imposi- 
tion laid  upon  me  by  you.”  He  would  have  asked,  if 
she  had  yet  learned^he  secret  of  the  destiny  which  had 
bound  them  together,  without  the  aim  of  self-advantage, 
or  of  the  higher  or  more  exalted  filings.  Though  her 


TWO  MEN. 


249 


spirit  was  unseen,  and  silent  as  its  image  in  his  hand,  he 
closed  the  case  with  the  feeling  of  having  made  her  the 
witness  of  his  past  and  present  conscience ; it  was 
washed  clean  for  the  future.  He  sought  out  the  re- 
maining contents  of  the  table,  and  detected  a dilapi- 
dated pocket-book,  with  the  name  of  “ Parke  Auster,”  „ 
in  half-obliterated  gilt  letters  stamped  upon  it : insert- 
ing his  long  fingers  into  one  of  its  compartments,  he 
drew  out  a bill  for  some  sheets  of  music,  and  a little 
bunch  of  dried  flowers. 

“The  geraniums  are  all  dead  in  the  cellar,”  quoth 
Jason. 

In  another,  he  found  a battered  silver  sixpence,  strung 
on  a faded  silk  string,  and  a card,  with  “ Theresa  Bond, 
49  Graham  Place,”  engraved  upon  it. 

“ Philippa  has  been  stirring  about  the  house  to-day, 
and  opened  her  graves,”  he  said,  throwing  the  pocket- 
book  into  the  fire.  “ Theresa’s  call  is  returned,  and  the 
silver  sixpence  goes  back  to  the  furnace.  Parke  has 
turned  the  key  on  his  memories,  and  I’ll  lock  up  Phil- 
ippa’s.” 

He  found  nothing  more  to  attract  speculation,  and 
after  finding  her  place  in  Robinson  Crusoe,  and  read- 
ing a few  pages,  folded  his  arms  on  the  table,  and  fell 
asleep. 

He  was  off  by  daybreak,  Mary  told  Philippa,  with  his 
dogs,  a chunk  of  bread,  and  a surveyor’s  scale ; so  she 
guessed  he  was  up  in  the  wood-lots.  Before  tea-time 
he  was  at  home,  and,  contrary  to  his  custom,  went  at 
once  to  the  parlor,  where  he  found  Mrs.  Rogers,  as 
cheerful,  talkative,  and  friendly  as  if  she  had  seen  him 
but  the  day  before,  when,  in  fact,  they  had  not  met  since 


250 


TWO  MEN. 


the  day  of  Sarah’s  funeral,  more  than  eight  months  ago. 
As  he  had  surmised,  she  brought  a letter  from  Sam,  and. 
the  early  part  of  her  visit  had  been  consumed  by  its  pe- 
rusal, and  the  development  of  her. feelings  concerning 
him.  The  letter  was  graphic,  and  Philippa  laughed 
over  his  account  of  a “ bear-grab  ” — his  meeting  with  a 
dingy  fellow  on  the  ice,  in  search  of  the  northwest  pas- 
sage, who  had,  in  the  warmth  of  his  greeting,  clawed 
him  unpleasantly. 

“ I wish  Sam  would  come  home,”  she  remarked. 

“Now,  do  you?  he’d  be  clawed  home,  as  well  as 
abroad,  poor  fellow.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ?” 

“You  don’t  know  what  paws  of  velvet  can  do,  do 
you  ?” 

“ Cats’  ?” 

“Women’s  paws,  Philippa.” 

“ Who  could  have  the  heart  to  torment  the  best  man 
I ever  knew  ?” 

“ That’s  what  I say ; but  did  you  never  know  of  any- 
body that  might  do  it  ?” 

“ Never.” 

Philippa  blushed  like  a blaze  of  brushwood  at  the  in- 
trusive torch  which  Mrs.  Rogers  applied  to  her. 

“ Philippa,”  she  said,  “ this  letter  has  rather  stirred  me 
up,  and  I have  made  up  my  mind  to  give  you  a piece  of 
it,  because  I love  you,  my  dear,  and  because  I want  to 
see  you  differently  situated.  I never  should  have  opened 
my  mouth  if  Parke  hadn’t  left  you ; now  you  know  he 
has,  you  needn’t  fire  up — I know  what’s  what.  In  my 
opinion,  and  I tell  you  candidly,  I wouldn’t  dare  mention 
it  if  Sam  wasn’t  on  the  other  side  of  Jordan,  as  it  were, 


TWO  MEN. 


251 


clawed  with  bears  and  harpooned  by  whales, — but  as  it 
is,  it  is  my  opinion  that  Sam  Rogers  adores  the  ground 
you  tread  on.” 

u He  doesn’t,”  said  Philippa,  indignantly. 

“ Oh  yes,  he  does  ; but  he  has  had  his  reasons  for  keep- 
ing dark ; he  might  have  been  afraid  of  interfering,  or  of 
looking  too  high.  But  things  are  changed.  What  you 
have,  you  know,  is  your  own  now,  and  you  have  got  to 
keep  it,  too ; and  Sam  is  a captain,  able  to  hold  his  own 
anywhere ; and  a sensible,  better  man  never  walked.” 

“ He  would  not  thank  you  for  this.  I am  glad  he  is 
thousands  of  miles  from  me.” 

“ Of  course,  he  wouldn’t  thank  me — children  never 
thank  their  parents;  but  you  ought  to  thank  me,  for 
wanting  to  give  you  something  worth  living  for.  You 
know  in  your  heart  of  hearts  that  Sam  would  stop  at  no 
sacrifice  for  your  sake.  What  ails  him  ? You  didn’t 
fall  in  love  with  him,  that’s  all.  Do  you  suppose  the 
married  state  is  a state  of  being  in  love  ?” 

u I believe  that  he  would  sacrifice  his  happiness  for  me, 
but  I could  not  accept  it  from  him.  I shall  not  marry 
Sam,  Mrs.  Rogers.” 

“Well,  I can’t  offer  anybody  else;  but  what  are  you 
going  to  do — marry  Jason  ?” 

The  question  fell  on  Philippa  like  a thunderbolt ; Mrs. 
Rogers  was  scared  at  her  aspect. 

“ Do  you  dare  say  that  ?”  she  cried. 

“ Others  say  that  he  will  marry.” 

“ I tell  you  that  I will  make  no  change — he  will  make 
none — we  shall  live  on  the  same  terms  as  now.  Oh  the 
cowardly  world,  that  invents  what  it  contemns !” 

a You  lamb,  you  are  dreadfully  earnest ; but  Jason  is  a 


252 


TWO  MEN. 


man,  my  dear;  do  not  believe  that  he  is  going  to  be 
mewed  up  this  way  forever.” 

44  Why  not  ?” 

44  Every  man  has  in  his  life  a period  of  breaking  out. 
It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  Jason  has  never  had  his 
turn  ; there  is  something  smouldering  in  him,  you  may  be 
sure.  I presume  he  is  not  aware  of  it  himself,  but  it  will 
make  no  difference,  he  will  have  his  day,  according  to  his 
nature.  I have  noticed,  over  and  over  again,  t&at  men 
belie  the  character  the  world  and  circumstances  give 
them.  There  was  Lem  Baker,  till  forty-nine  he  was  a 
sober  man,  spoke  at  all  the  temperance  meetings,  and 
never  showed  the  least  mercy  for  those  who  tasted 
ardent*  spirits ; before  he  was  fifty,  he  was  an  awful 
drunkard.  And  there  was  Eben  Millet,  who  was  so  de- 
voted to  his  wife,  and  always  leading  about  his  children ; 
one  scarce  ever  saw  him  without  a child  fastened  to  his 
forefinger,  and  he  was  always  talking  about  what  his 
wife  thought  and  said  and  did ; but  on  the  fifteenth  year 
of  his  marriage,  he  went  mad  after  a young  woman,  who 
drove  him  to  his  grave.” 

44  These  cases  do  not  prove  what  the  race  is.” 

44  Race ! there  isn’t  but  one  race  all  over  the  world, 
and  Jason  belongs  to  it.” 

44  The  grovelling  fools  talk  about  him,  do  they  ? Why 
do  people  marry  twice  ?” 

44  Although  I have  been  married  twice,  I don’t  think  I 
can  tell  you.” 

44 1 did  not  know  it.” 

44  The  first  time  was  long  before  you  were  born,  when 
Sarah  Parke  was  growing  up.  My  second  wedding 
came  off  when  I was  twenty-three.  I then  married  Mr. 
Rogers,  who  was  forty-three.” 


TWO  MEN.  253 

“ I almost  wish  myself  in  the  Arctic  seas,  among  the 
mute  beasts.” 

“ The  must  he's  are  there,  Philippa,  as  well  as  here ; 
but  I am  dreadful  sorry  I have  upset  you  so.  How 
the  afternoon  has  slipped  away ! I do  believe  it’s  get- 
ting towards  five  o’clock.” 

Jason  was  a welcome  sight  to  her  at  this  moment. 
She  had  been  no  advantage  to  Philippa,  that  was  cer- 
tain ; but  what  would  become  of  the  wilful,  innocent, 
friendless  girl,  if  Jason  should  bring  a strange  woman 
into  the  house  as  his  wife  ? That  jade,  Elsa,  must  have 
been  of  her  way  of  thinking,  or  she  would  not  have  left 
her.  With  all  her  money,  Philippa  was  no  better  off 
than  the  poorest  girl  in  Crest  with  a mother.  Mrs. 
Rogers  felt  little  disappointment  in  her  scheme  as  far  as 
Sam  was  concerned,  for  she  had  the  fullest  confidence  in 
his  ability  to  weather  any  thing,  from  Cape  Horn  to  the 
stormiest  passions  which  rage  in  the  region  of  the  soul. 

They  sat  down  to  tea,  and  her  first  observation  was, 
“ What  a change  !”  The  second  embodied  a joke,  and 
the  third  contained  the  exclamation,  “Why,  Jason,  you 
are  getting  gray.” 

“ I am  old,”  he  replied. 

“ Philippa  is  growing  old,  too ; she  stays  in  the  house 
too  much.  Did  you  never  think  the  house  was  damp  ? 
It  has  been  built  near  a hundred  years ; its  beams  and 
foundation  must  be  rotting.” 

“ It  may  fall  on  us  some  day,”  said  Philippa. 

“ I hope  nobody  will  take  the  trouble  to  unroof  us  if 
it  happens,”  said  Jason. 

“ Be  sure  to  let  us  alone,  Mrs.  Rogers,”  Philippa 
added. 


22 


254 


TWO  MEN. 


“ Old  Mr.  Turner’s  house  came  down  by  the  run — you 
recollect,  Jason,”  Mrs.  Rogers  remarked. 

But  he  made  no  reply ; he  was  occupied  in  observing 
Philippa,  for  her  last  remark  was  an  enigma  to  him.  If 
Mrs.  Rogers  had  not  been  there,  he  would  have  prayed' 
for  the  walls  to  fall,  for  the  sake  of  solving  it.  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  and  was  struck  with  an  un- 
easy surprise ; it  contained  an  information  that  caused 
her  to  look  about  her,  and  discover  where  she  was. 
With  a sudden  instinct,  forgetting  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Rogers,  she  asked  him  where  the  pocket-book  was.  He 
indicated  the  fire,  and  asked  her,  in  a gentle  voice, 
whether  she  had  finished  Robinson  Crusoe. 

“ You  haven’t  thieves  in  the  neighborhood,  have 
you?”  Mrs.  Rogers  inquired.  “ Becky  Freeman  was 
telling  me  that  her  chickens  had  disappeared  lately.” 

“ I should  not  be  surprised  if  we  had,”  cried  Philippa ; 
“ how  can  we  punish  them  ?” 

“ There  is  a great  deal  of  rubbish,  that  might  as  well 
be  stolen  as  not,”  said  Jason;  “ why  should  we  punish 
one  for  taking  what  he  can’t  get  except  by  stealing  ?” 

“Why,  Jason,  where’s  your  religion?”  asked  Mrs. 
Rogers. 

“ Safe  enough ; whenever  I want  to  use  it,  it  will  be 
at  hand.” 

An  argument  set  in  between  them,  which  was  closed 
by  her  declaring  that  she  must  go  home,  and  attend  to 
her  cat  and  parrot.  Philippa  accompanied  her  to  the 
gate,  and  watched  her  down  the  street ; instead  of  re- 
turning to  the  parlor,  she  went  to  her  chamber,  and  spent 
the  evening  in  darkness. 


TWO  ME  X. 


255 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

“ It  is  most  time,”  said  Mary,  as  she  was  taking  up 
the  ashes  in  the  parlor  fireplace,  “ to  be  thinking  of  pine 
boughs  for  the  jambs,  instead  of  live  coals.” 

“Pine  boughs,”  echoed  Jason,  with  a dreamy  stare  at 
the  ashes,  “ we  won’t  have  any.” 

“ It  is  a very  warm  day,  for  the  time  of  year ; the 
sooner  we  go  to  house-cleaning,  the  better.” 

“ Don’t  upset  things,  Mary.” 

“ This  room  can  remain  as  it  is  for  a while  longer ; 
Philippa  takes  good  care  of  it.  I often  find  her  dusting 
and  setting  things  to  rights  at  odd  times,  but  she  don’t 
seem  to  care  for  the  rest  of  the  house  any  longer ; she 
hasn’t  said  a word  for  or  against  a thing  that  has  hap- 
pened since  Parke  went  away.” 

“ Ah  ! Where  is  she  now  ?” 

“ She’s  up  stairs ; she  said,  just  before  you  came  in, 
that  she  should  soon  remove  her  work-basket  to  her  own 
chamber.” 

“Ah!” 

“ It  will  be  cold  this  evening,  for  the  wind  has  changed, 
and  a good  fire  will  be  wanted.” 

“ Yes,  I think  so.  1 am  going  to  the  Comet  Rocks  to- 
day ; put  off  supper'till  I come  back.” 

Surprised  at  the  unusual  request,  she  asked  him  if 
there  was  more  company  to-day  again ; he  replied  that 
he  might  possibly  bring  home  some  fish — that  was  rea- 
son enough,  was  it  not  ? 


256 


TWO  MEN. 


Afterwards  she  told  Philippa  that  a word  musn’t  he 
said  against  a late  supper  that  night,  for  there  would  he 
a reason  for  it.  With  the  change  of  wind  a storm  came 
up  before  sunset,  which  Gilbert  said  was  the  sheep- 
storm  ; the  air  was  filled  with  a cold,  rolling  mist,  rising 
and  falling  over  the  town,  as  the  wind  compelled.  Phil- 
ippa, in  the  restlessness  which  had  lately  come  upon  her, 
watched  its  rifts,  which  disclosed  glimpses  of  gray  water 
passing  the  shore  in  dismal  haste,  and  masses  of  half- 
opened  leaves  shedding  showers  of  condensed  fog,  or 
the  dingy  umbrellas  which  wavered  along  the  street, 
protecting  the  few  loungers  going  between  houses  and 
shops.  But  she  was  quiet  by  the  shaded  lamp  in  the 
parlor,  when  she  heard  Jason’s  voice  in  the  passage  tell- 
ing Mary  that  it  had  taken  him  a long  time  to  tack 
across  the  bay.  He  entered,  inquiring  for  his  supper, 
and,  contrary  to  his  wont,  in  his  boating  costume ; he 
threw  his  battered  hat  into  a corner,  and  dropped  his 
pilot’s  jacket  on  the  floor.  Philippa  could  not  help  being 
conscious  of  his  proceedings.  Would  he  take  off  his 
boots,  she  wondered,  and  suspended  her  sewing  to  look 
at  them ; they  were  wet  and  heavy,  evidently,  and  his 
trowsers  were  tucked  into  them,  but  he  made  no  move- 
ment to  pull  them  off.  Her  eyes  were  irresistibly  drawn 
up  to  meet  his — he  was  gazing  at  her 

“ Excuse  my  boots,”  he  said. 

She  nodded  slightly. 

“And  allow  me  to  disabuse  myself  of  this  neck-tie; 
the  ends  blew  out  like  a sail,  and  they  are  wet.” 

He  untwisted  it  as  if  it  had  been  choking  him,  and 
dropped  it  beside  him.  She  had  resumed  her  sewing, 
but  she  knew  when  it  fell,  and  she  knew,  too,  that  he 


TWO  ME  1ST. 


257 


was  very  pale,  and  that  his  blue  eyes  were  shining  in 
strange  relief  against  the  circle  of  his  thick,  black,  curved 
eyelashes.  Mary  had  set  on  the  supper,  and  was  gone; 
but  he  sat  down  by  the  fire,  unmindful  of  it,  till  Philip- 
pa called  him  to  the  table. 

“ I didn’t  expect  the  fish,  Mr.  Auster,”  said  Mary,  re- 
entering with  another  dish;  “so  here  is  something  in  the 
place.” 

“ Fish  !”  he  said,  facing  round  in  his  chair ; “ what 
fish  ?” 

Philippa  looked  at  her  so  impatiently  that  she  thought 
it  best  not  to  answer  him,  but  to  disappear  again,  and 
leave  them  to  their  supper.  Philippa  felt  there  was 
something  dangerous  about  Jason  just  then,  and  pre- 
ferred that  he  should  display  his  eccentric  mood  to  her- 
self alone. 

“ You  need  your  tea,  Jason,”  she  said,  in  a conciliatory 
voice. 

He  laughed,  stretched  out  his  long  arm  (for  he  had  not 
left  his  chair),  and  demanded:  “Give  it  to  me,  then. 
Come  and  hold  the  cup  to  my  lips — I haven’t  the 
strength  to  do  it.”  % 

“ Nor  have  I.” 

His  manner,  in  spite  of  her  cool  reply,  confused  her  a 
little.  Instead  of  taking  her  own  seat  at  the  table,  she 
walked  round  it,  with  a plate  in  her  hand,  and  filled  it 
with  bread. 

“ I say  I am  thirsty,  Philippa,  and  hungry, — bring  me 
something.” 

“ Take  it,  then.”  And  she  gave  him  a cup  of  tea, 
which  he  swallowed  at  once. 

22* 


258 


TWO  MEI. 


“ More  tea/’  lie  begged,  “ and  something  to  eat,  or  I 
must  famish.” 

She  reflected.  It  was  his  determination,  she  per- 
ceived, not  to  go  to  the  table.  She*  herself,  had  sud- 
denly lost  her  appetite.  It  would  not  do  for  Mary  to 
find  the  supper  untouched,  and  Mary  at  that  moment 
represented  the  whole  censorious  world,  which  Philippa 
felt,  for  the  first  time,  afraid  of.  Seizing  the  last  dish 
which  Mary  had  brought  in,  she  threw  its  contents  into 
the  fire,  and  then  deliberately  drank  some  tea  and  ate  a 
morsel  of  bread. 

“ Right,”  he  said,  watching  her  till  she  had  finished 
and  called  Mary  in  to  clear  the  table.  While  it  was 
being  done,  he  thought  he  detected  Philippa  in  the  act 
of  retreat,  which  he  cut  off  by  promenading  between 
her  and  the  doors. 

“ Philippa,”  he  said,  suddenly  wheeling  towards  her, 
when  alone,  “ I am  tired  of  reigning  in  hell  and  serving 
in  heaven.  I would  be  master  of  Paradise.” 

“ Move  to  another  place,  then,”  she  curtly  answered, 
thinking  how  much  she  could  bear,  that  was  painful  and 
disagreeable,  from  him.# 

“ Here  is  my  place — with  you.  Put  down  your  fool- 
ish work,  for  I am  going  to  teach  you  something.  I, 
Jason — can  you  imagine  it  ?” 

“No.  Is  it  a necessary  knowledge  you  are  about  to 
teach  ?” 

“ I make  it  so.” 

He  moved  a chair  opposite  her  and  sat  down.  She 
saw  him,  but  with  false  eyes.  Any  other  woman  there 
would  have  seen  a man  filled  with  the  beauty  which 
passion  gives  to  the  plainest,  the  most  simple — she 


TWO  MEN. 


259 


would  have  seen  her  lover,  ardent,  resolute,  overpower- 
ing. Philippa  merely  saw  him  in  a position  and  mood 
of  perplexing  inconvenience,  which  she  could  not  dis- 
pose of.  Doubtless  he  felt  her  obtuseness,  for  he  re- 
mained silent  some  minutes,  and  then  prefaced  his  sub- 
ject with  the  remark:  “ How  the  wind  howls  !” 

“ Are  you  listening  to  that,  all  this  while  ?”  she  asked, 
irritated  at  his  deliberate  propinquity. 

“ Philippa,  how  do  you  think  I have  lived  ?” 

“ I know  how,  without  thinking.” 

“ What  has  been  my  value?” 

“Value  ?” 

“ I have  been  a husband,  a father,  and  your  guardian ; 
was  I any  thing  else  ?” 

“ No,  not  to  me.” 

“ I was  nothing  to  myself  either, — for  a long  time,  a 
long  time.” 

“Why  should  you  have  been  more,  sir?  Your  rela- 
tions implied  all  the  possibilities  of  life.” 

“ It  implied  little  with  me  beyond  duty.  Reflect.” 

The  memory  of  Sarah’s  loveless  ways,  of  Parke’s  in- 
different neglect,  was  too  clear  for  her  not  to  follow  his 
suggestion.  But  what  was  all  this  to  her  ? The  result 
of  his  life  was  like  that  of  hers — disappointment;  and  he 
must  tell  of  it,  perhaps  with  the  hope  of  convincing  her 
that  it  was  the  common  lot. 

“You  found  no  satisfaction  in  duty!  Who  does? 
Something  that  we  esteem,  however,  pushes  us  on  to- 
wards its  aim,  as  strenuously  as  if  it  were  our  most 
beautiful  ideal.  You  wish  me  to  understand  that  you 
are  disappointed.” 

“I  was  not  disappointed,  for  I hoped  nothing.  I 


260 


TWO  MEN. 


never,  at  any  time,  in  youth  or  manhood,  was  in  a posi- 
tion that  might  have  accepted  hope.” 

A con^rehension  of  his  intention  dawned  in  her  mind, 
which  he  perceived  by  a change  in  her  countenance. 

“Are  you  ready  to  admit,”  he  continued,  “that  1 
have  done  well  as  a chrysalis  ? or  do  you  intend  to  warn 
me  presently  that  if  I break  through  the  traditions  built 
round  me  by  the  masons  who  mortar  the  mass  together 
by  plummet  and  line,  I shall  be  dejDrived  of  every  claim 
of  support  from  my  fellows  ?” 

She  began  to  feel  the  recklessness  which  always  came 
over  her  when  she  was  in  collision  with  an  antagonist. 

“Have  you  a hope  now,  Jason?” 

“Yes,  one  that  a free  man  is  entitled  to.” 

She  started  to  her  feet,  but  he  compelled  her  back  to 
her  chair. 

“ You  are  going  to  tell  me  that  you  love  me.  Well, 
begin,  so  that  it  may  end.” 

“I  love  you,  Philippa” — 

Her  eyes  shot  sparkles  of  anger,  and  her  lips  made  a 
mocking  motion,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

“And  I ask  you  to  be  my  wife” — 

A gesture  of  contempt  did  not  deter  him  in  his  speech. 

“ The  slow  years  having  taught  me  what  manner  of 
man  I am,  and,  with  a patience  equal  to  my  own,  re- 
moved all  obstacles  to  my  desires,  do  you  believe  that  I 
shall  not  conquer  your  will — it  shall  not  stand  in  my 
way.  Accept  me,  Philippa.” 

“ Parke  ! Parke  ! Parke  !”  she  said,  between  her  teeth. 

“ Will  you  make  father  and  son  a watchword  ? Let 
the  world  do  that ; but,  Philippa,  you  know  that  I have 
been  faithful  to  him  till  there  is  no  longer  need  of  faith. 


TWO  MEN. 


261 


What ! Would  you  like  to  say  that  I am  like  a whipped 
hound,  slinking  back  to  the  place  of  contention,  to  hold 
the  rights  I could  not  maintain,  except  alone !” 

He  caught  her  hands,  and  drew  her  so  near  him  that 
she  was  obliged  to  meet  his  burning,  pleading,  indig' 
nant  eyes,  and  to  dwell  on  his  quivering  lips,  which 
were  as  white  as  death.  It  was  more  than  she  could 
bear ; but  she  must  still  listen. 

“ If  your  love,  which  is  now  mere  pride  with  you,  had 
remained  where  it  had  its  birth,  in  the  depths  of  your 
self \ instead  of  governing  your  actions,  blazoning  itself 
on  your  existence,  it  would  be  easy  to  turn  its  current 
into  that  vague,  emotional  sea  which  ebbs  and  flows  in 
every  human  soul,  but  which  does  not  sway  its  destiny, 
unless,  as  you  have,  one  commits  his  emotion  to  the 
public.  Who  may  not  have  felt  as  you  have  felt  ? We 
are  much  alike.” 

“ Now,  have  you  finished  ?” 

He  passed  his  handkerchief  over  his  face,  to  hide  a 
sickening  agitation,  for  the  struggle  shattered  him. 
Philippa  was  so  pitiless  ! Hard  and  bright  as  a diamond, 
cold  as  a glacier,  ignorant,  obstinate,  insensible — and 
yet  he  loved  her  so,  that  he  swore  silently  that  he  would 
never  go  beyond  the  spot  that  contained  her. 

She  drew  her  watch  from  her  belt,  and  turned  its  face 
towards  him.  # 

u Yes,  it  is  late,”  he  said. 

Then  he  folded  his  arms  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
floor,  stopping  before  her  at  each  turn,  to  meet  the  eyes 
of  a combatant  determined  to  end  the  subject  at  once 
and  forever. 

The  fire  went  out,  the  astral  lamp  waned,  the  storm 


262 


TWO  MEN. 


died  away,  the  rain  ceased  to  beat  against  the  windows, 
the  wind  to  roar  round  the  house,  but  the  sea  bayed  the 
shore  with  a monotonous  roar,  which  echoed  through 
the  room.  He  resumed  his  seat,  and  fell  into  deep 
thought.  The  years  that  he  had  boasted  of  had  cheated 
him  after  all — they  had  not  given  him  the  key  to  Phil- 
ippa’s nature.  She  herself  did  not  possess  it,  he  was 
convinced.  To  open  those  sealed  perceptions,  that  was 
his  task — how  could  it  be  done,  where  was  the  key  ? 
She  thought,  at  last,  so  absorbed  he  seemed,  that  he 
must  have  forgotten  her — she  rose  without  attracting 
his  attention,  and  went  to  the  door,  paused,  and  looked 
back.  Something  in  his  attitude  and  his  profile  gave 
her  an  impulse  to  go  and  shake  him  by  the  shoulder, 
and  ask  him  what  his  thoughts  were ; resisting  that,  she 
was  weak  enough  to  stand  by  the  door,  till  he  carelessly 
raised  his  head,  and  turned  to  look  at  her.  An  expres- 
sion of  pity,  speculation,  and  doubt  passed  over  his  face, 
which  was  now  perfectly  composed,  and  gave  her  a bit- 
ter sense  of  humiliation ; her  brain,  her  heart,  her  eye- 
lids were  burdened  with  a weight  which  bore  her  to  the 
floor.  With  a faint  gasp,  and  throwing  up  her  arms  to 
drive  it  away,  she  fell  forward,  and  he  caught  her. 


TWO  MEN. 


263 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Philippa  wrote  Theresa  Bond,  and  begged  her  to 
come  to  Crest.  Though  the  letter  merely  outlined  the 
events  of  the  past  year,  omitting  all  mention  of  Jason, 
Theresa  read  it  with  an  impression  that  it  had  been  dic- 
tated by  stronger  feelings  than  she  had  given  Philippa 
credit  for  possessing.  She  replied  that  curiosity,  and 
redivivus  also,  tempted  her  to  accept  the  invitation,  but 
she  could  not,  because  she  was  about  to  be  married  to  a 
youth  who  would  not  permit  her  to  leave  him.  She 
pretended  to  ascribe  his  refusal  to  a base  jealousy  of  the 
past,  which  she  had  made  him  acquainted  with.  Phil- 
ippa could  imagine  how  she  wanted  to  come — what  a 
monumental  time  they  might  have  ! Had  Philippa 
found  a confessor  yet?  Was  she  prepared  to  own  that 
the  beautiful  Parke  hadn’t  proved  a joy  forever?  Jus- 
tice must  be  done  him,  however;  she,  herself,  was 
obliged  to  admit  that  there  had  never  been  the  shadow 
of  deceit  in  his  conduct  towards  her.  How  was  Cousin 
Jason?  Was  he  an  exception  to  the  sex,  in  the  charac- 
ter of  a bereaved  husband  ? Or,  was  he  already  on  the 
point  of  falling  in  love?  She  didn’t  believe,  by  the 
way,  that  he  ever  had  been  in  love ; she  thought  him 
like  the  aloe — that  he  wouldn’t  bloom  till  towards  a hun- 
dred. Think  of  the  woman  who  could  gather  the  blos- 
som ! “ Stuff,”  thought  Philippa,  “ I wish  she  would 

come  and  take  it ; I dare  say  she  would  try.”  The  let- 


264 


TWO  ME  1ST.' 


ter  concluded  with  an  invitation  to  her  wedding,  not 
yet  appointed. 

Jason  brought  Theresa’s  letter  to  her,  and  asked  what 
its  contents  were. 

“ I sent  for  Theresa  to  visit  me,”  she  replied. 

An  angry  cloud  spread  over  his  face,  and  his  eyes 
flashed ; it  gratified  her  to  see  the  calmness  which  had 
possessed  him,  since  their  last  interview,  broken  up. 

“ You  sent  for  her  as  a protection  against  me,”  he 
said. 

“Yes;  I did  not  know  what  else  to  do,”  she  replied, 
ingenuously. 

“ She  has  not  accepted  the  invitation  !” 

“ She  cannot  come.” 

“ She  will  not  come.  Theresa  understands  me.” 

Philippa  looked  at  the  letter  in  her  hand  with  aston- 
ishment. Could  he  read  it  from  the  outside  ? 

“ How  do  you  know  she  understands  you  ?” 

“ Because  she  is  a woman  who  has  been  taught  by 
her  passion.” 

“ It  is  a pity  she  is  not  here.” 

“ It  is  not  a pity ; it  is  enough  for  me  to  witness  your 
heart  of  ice  and  steel.” 

“ What  do  you  make  me  out  to  be  ? I never  was  ro- 
mantic— less  so  now  than  ever.  I see  myself,  as  a 
young  woman,  refusing  to  marry  a man  much  older 
than  herself,  with  whom  she  has  lived  as  a relative.” 

For  the  life  of  her  she  could  not  name  the  character 
of  the  relation ; he  never  had  appeared  like  a father, 
and  she  had  never  thought  of  him  as  a brother. 

“ That  is  the  arithmetic  of  the  subject,”  he  answered. 

“ There  are  other  reasons,  too.” 


TWO  MEN. 


265 


“ Reasons  ?” 

“ Why  I should  not  listen  to  you,  even.” 

“No — no,  Philippa,  there  are  none.  Give  me  your 
conscience,  your  will ; I can  keep  them  from  torment- 
ing you.  Shelter  yourself  in  the  abyss  of  my  love, 
which  is  as  wide  and  deep  as  the  air.” 

He  was  beside  her  chair — on  the  floor  at  her  feet : she 
could  not  resist  his  folding  her  in  his  arms,  nor  move 
her  head  from  his  breast ; but  she  could  shut  her  eyes 
against  him,  and  she  did. 

“ Little  flower,”  he  said,  “ live  with  me  and  be  hap- 
py, as  I shall  be  happy.” 

She  was  like  a statue. 

“ Give  me,”  and  he  shook  her  in  his  embrace,  “ this 
Philippa — this  solitary,  friendless  girl,  to  be  the  life  of 
this  solitary,  friendless  man.” 

'No  answer  came  from  her;  but  when  he  sighed  like 
one  in  pain  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  they  looked  upon 
each  other  from  the  prison  of  the  soul.  They  saw  that 
their  personality  was  a sacred  essence  that  could  not  be 
tampered  with,  and  then  each  spirit  retreated  to  its  con- 
fines. His  eyes  rested  on  the  beautiful  lips,  so  near  his 
own. 

“ May  I kiss  you  ?”  he  asked. 

“You  hold  me  here  by  force;  why  ask  for  such  a 
trifle,  that  depends  on  your  will  ?” 

Although  her  sweet,  warm  breath  made  the  current 
of  his  blood  thunder  in  heart  and  brain,  he  released  her 
as  if  she  were  a log. 

“ Does  it ? Then  I shall  never  kiss  you — never” 

“ One  point,  at  last,  is  settled  between  us.” 

A long  period  of  silence  followed  this  interview,  in 
23 


266 


TWO  MEN. 


which  neither  looked  at  or  spoke  to  the  other.  They 
met  at  the  table,  passed  each  other  in  the  passages,  or 
on  the  stairs,  but  made  no  stay  together  anywhere. 
The  silence  was  terminated  by  Jason’s  being  obliged 
to  consult  her  respecting  the  division  of  some  land, 
through  which  a street  had  been  cut,  into  building  lots. 
The  land  on  one  side  of  the  new  street  belonged  to 
Parke,  and  that  on  the  other  side  was  hers.  She  re- 
fused to  look  at  the  diagram  of  the  street. 

“ You  are  acting,”  she  said,  angrily,  “ as  if  Parke 
were  dead;  and  I won’t  sell.” 

“ An  agent  must  follow  his  instructions.  Mine  are  to 
raise  money — to  make  new  streets  in  the  Republic  of 
Venezuela,  probably.  The  land  can  be  sold  to  advan- 
tage, if  all  parties  consent;  a company  wants  both 
sides  of  the  street.  Will  you  sell  ?” 

She  proposed  going  to  the  spot ; he  assented,  inter- 
nally cursing  the  infatuation,  which,  strong  as  it  was, 
had  no  power  to  break  his  own.  They  had  to  cross  a 
field  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  climb  a stone 
wall  before  reaching  the  ground.  Jason  stepped  over 
the  wall  with  a stride,  but  Philippa  slipped  on  a mossy 
stone,  and  fell  over,  with  her  dress  hanging  to  it ; he 
was  obliged  to  extricate  her,  and  laughed  as  he  did  so, 
for  which  irreverence  she  gave  his  cheek  a blow  with 
her  glove.  At  the  next  wall  he  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  carried  her  past  the  hedge-row,  over  a brook  bor- 
dered with  alder  bushes  and  wild  roses,  and  deposited 
her  on  the  disputed  territory.  She  saw  the  advantage 
at  once  of  breaking  up  the  ground  into  building  lots  ; 
it  would  increase  the  value  of  the  whole  tract,  especially 
on  that  side  nearest  the  town,  which  belonged  to  Parke. 


TWO  MEN. 


267 


“ Sell  it,  if  you  choose,”  she  said. 

“ What  shall  I do  with  your  share  of  the  money  ?” 

“ Take  care  of  it,  as  you  always  have.” 

“You  choose,  then,  to  continue  me  as  your  guardian.” 

Biting  her  lips,  she  turned  away  without  being  gener- 
ous enough  to  tell  him  that  she  would  rather  trust  him 
than  any  man  in  the  world.  The  anomaly  of  her  posi- 
tion was  most  trying — unheard  of,  and  yet  she  had  no 
thought  of  ever  separating  from  him.  He  did  not  walk 
beside  her,  as  she  expected,  but  remained  by  the  brook, 
gazing  into  its  little  brown  pools,  and  peeling  a willow 
wand.  When  she  reached  the  wall  she  stopped  and 
looked  back,  as  she  had  done  once  before  when  he 
seemed  to  ibrget  her ! How  tall  he  looked  against  the 
background  of  the  sky ! She  wondered  if  that  was  the 
way  he  passed  so  much  of  his  time  when  in  the  woods. 
Perhaps  he  was  poetical ; that  might  be  his  musing  se- 
cret, and  he  had  never  found  anybody  to  share  it  with. 
He  was  a strange  man.  Liking  to  live  apart  from  human 
sympathy  so  many  years,  why  had  he  at  last  loved  and 
sought  her  ? Tears  surprised  her — an  involuntary  trib- 
ute paid  to  the  honor  and  generosity  of  his  nature, 
which  she  could  not  suppress.  He  looked  up  suddenly, 
and,  observing  her  standing  by  the  wall,  hurried  up  to 
her,  with  a gentle  apology  for  keeping  her  waiting. 
They  returned  through  the  main  street,  and  she  was 
perplexed  in  trying  to  recall  the  time  when  they  walked 
together  last.  The  street  looked  pleasant,  with  its  wil- 
lows, deep  yards  full  of  lilacs  and  rose  bushes  on  one 
side,  and  its  quaint,  miscellaneous  shops  on  the  other, 
and  she  said  so.  He  pointed  to  the  sea,  which  appeared 
to  be  wedging  up  between  the  storehouses  on  the  upper 


268 


TWO  MEN. 


part  of  the  street,  and  told  her  how  it  looked  the  night 
before  in  moonlight.  He  sauntered  along  the  street, 
and  she  was  compelled  to  regulate  her  gait  by  his. 
They  met  many  people,  but  she  noticed  that  none  ac- 
costed him ; his  slight  nods  were  returned  by  marked 
respect,  and  he  was  closely  observed  by  all  who  passed 
him  with  a certain  air  of  curiosity,  which  puzzled  her. 

The  walk  induced  a restlessness  which  would  not  per- 
mit her  to  resume  her  in-door  employments;  she  had 
suddenly  acquired  a longing  for  change,  and  bethought 
her  of  a promise  made  to  Elsa,  of  a two  or  three  days’ 
visit.  She  packed  a valise  on  the  spur  of  the  recollec- 
tion, and  started  for  Elsa’s  with  Gilbert.  On  her  ar- 
rival, she  found  that  Elsa  had  been  expecting  her,  and 
her  reception  was  a warm  one.  Gilbert  was  directed  to 
tell  Jason  not  to  send  for  her;  she  would  take  her  own 
time  in  returning. 

“ If  you  hadn’t  come,  miss,”  said  Elsa,  when  they 
were  alone,  in  two  rocking-chairs,  “ I should  have  made 
my  way  up  to  your  house;  there’s  something  in  this 
pleasant  weather  that  drives  me  wild  when  I am  alone. 
I look  out  at  the  ring  of  trees  round  me,  and  feel  as  if 
they  were  waiting  to  catch  me;  the  fields  of  green, 
shining  grass  are  awful  lonesome — it  seems  as  if  all  hu- 
man life  had  passed  away  forever.  The  seed  is  all  in 
the  ground,  ’tisn’t  haying  yet,  and  I am  put  to  it  to 
pass  away  the  time.  I wish  the  Old  Harry  had  the 
place.” 

“ You  don’t  mean  to  own  that  you  are  tired  of  it  ?” 

“ That’s  it,  exactly.” 

'‘And  that  you  would  like  to  go  back?” 

‘ You’ve  said  it.” 


TWO  MEN. 


269 


“What  did  you  ever  leave  for,  you  contrary  old 
woman  ?”  And  Philippa  felt  more  provoked  with  her 
than  ever,  for  having  left  her. 

“ Never  you  mind — I haven’t  gone  back  yet.  I don’t 
know  whether  it  is  safe.” 

She  looked  at  Philippa,  with  such  cunning,  crafty 
eyes,  that  she  was  disposed  to  turn  away  from  them. 

“ Dear  me,  Elsa,  what  an  old  gipsey  you  are.” 

“A  dark-complected  man  is  going  the  same  road  that 
you  are.  You  will  meet,  if  a light-complected  man,  who 
is  not  thinking  of  you,  does  not  cross  the  seas  in  three 
days,  three  months,  or  three  years.  A piece  of  bad  luck 
is  coming  from  the  Jack  of  Spades  to  you  all.” 

u Patience,  and  shuffle  the  cards.” 

“ They  are  talking  about  Jason.  How  is  it,  Philippa  ? 
I didn’t  know  why  I went  away  hardly,  but  you  see  I 
found  a reason  after  all.  Clouds  no  bigger  than  a man’s 
hand  sometimes  blow  over,  but  this  hasn’t.  I do  mis- 
trust that  Jason  means  to  marry  you.  I don’t  care 
much , whether  you  make  up  your  minds,  you  two,  to  be 
yoked  together ; but  I intend  to  keep  out  of  the  way 
till  it  is  settled  one  way  or  the  other.  Sarah  Auster 
shall  not  accuse  me  at  the  Judgment  of  making,  or  mar- 
ring ; nor  shall  the  tell-tales  of  Crest  accuse  me  of  match- 
making.” 

“ It  is  all  settled.” 

“ Are  you  sure  ? I can  see  by  your  face  which  way.” 

Without  any  previous  intention  of  doing  so,  Philippa 
unburdened  her  mind  to  Elsa,  who  heard  the  recital  of 
Jason’s  conduct  without  a single  comment.  The  repre- 
sentation that  Philippa  made  placed  her  conduct  in  a 
new  light  before  her  own  mental  vision,  and  changed 
23* 


270 


TWO  MEN. 


him  also ; he  was  a different  man  in  her  description  from 
what  he  had  appeared  in  reality,  and  she  could  not  ac- 
count for  it. 

“ I guess,”  said  Elsa,  “ that  I won’t  come  up  till  green 
corn  comes.” 

She  would  not  say  another  word  on  the  subject,  but 
she  was  astonished  at  the  insight  she  had  obtained  into 
Jason’s  character;  making  an  excuse  to  Philippa,  she 
went  into  the  garden,  with  the  feint  of  picking  green 
gooseberries  to  stew.  * 

“ Did  you  ever,”  she  said,  under  her  breath,  as  if  ad- 
dressing the  gooseberry-bush  confidentially,  44  hear  the 
like  before  ? It  is  certain  to  my  mind,  that  Sarah  had 
no  more  comprehension  what  kind  of  man  she  had  for  a 
husband,  than  I have  had ; live  and  learn,  though.  It  is 
well  she  died.  Come  to  think  of  it,  there  was  never  any 
love  lost  between  them.  Poor  Sarah  ! I wonder  I 
didn't  see  him  better — he  is  a remarkable  man ; but  his 
fire  was  put  out  by  the  Parke  sun — that’s  the  truth. 
Who  hasn’t  been  put  out  by  them,  if  in  their  way? 
And  Philippa’s  trying  to  put  him  out  too,  but  he  has 
got  the  best  of  her,  I’ll  bet.  But  I must  stay  a while 
longer  in  my  jail.” 

She  carried  in  her  gooseberries,  and  told  Philippa  to 
pick  them  over.  Then  she  brought  out  some  ends  of 
muslin  and  lace,  and  set  her  to  cap-making.  Various 
other  matters  were  entered  upon,  which  seemed  unim- 
portant to  Philippa,  but  they  served  Elsa’s  purpose,  to 
keep  up  a desultory  conversation  and  restore  composure. 


TWO  MEN 


271 


CHAPTER  XXXY. 

Elsa  stipulated  for  a week ; it  came  to  a close  before 
Philippa  heard  from  home ; then  some  unexpected  news 
was  brought  from  the  shore  by  Clapp,  who  had  gone 
thither  for  some  stores.  As  he  heard  it,  he  said,  he 
would  tell  them,  but  couldn’t  say  whether  the  particulars 
were  just  so.  It  was  on  a Tuesday,  the  day  after  Phil- 
ippa left  her  house,  that  Jason  Auster  went  to  the  woods 
with  his  gun,  and  was  found  there  by  Jehu  Bates,  insen- 
sible, and  with  his  right  hand  blown  off  at  the  wrist.  He 
laid  right  in  a pool  of  blood,  that  made  Jehu  Bates  sick; 
but  he  had  sense  enough  to  hold  up  Jason’s  arm,  and  to 
tie  his  whip-lash  round  it,  which  stopped  the  blood’s 
running,  and  brought  him  to  so  that  he  was  able  to  walk 
to  Jehu  Bates’s  ox-cart,  that  was  in  the  woods  after  a 
cord  or  two  of  yellow  pine ; and  Jehu  Bates  brought 
him  home,  where  he  now  lay  in  a raging  fever. 

“ He’s  been  there  ever  since  Tuesday,”  screamed  Elsa, 
44  and  now  it’s  Saturday,  and  we  have  not  been  sent  for.” 

44  Maybe  he  is  out  of  his  head,”  was  Clapp’s  consolatory 
reason  for  the  omission. 

With  strangely  cold,  tremulous  fingers  Philippa  began 
to  fold  the  articles  that  were  to  be  packed  in  her  valise, 
and  arranged  them  as  leisurely  and  carefully  as  though 
she  were  not  thinking  of  what  she  had  just  heard.  Noth- 
ing seemed  so  plain  to  her,  so  imperative,  as  the  getting 
of  her  hair-brush,  her  thimble,  her  shoes  into  this  valise ; 


272 


TWO  MEN. 


but  every  instant  a weight  was  growing  heavier  and 
heavier  upon  her,  which  impeded  her  progress,  and  was 
forcing  time  to  stand  still  with  her,  while  it  sped  with 
Jason,  hurrying  him  to  his  last  hour.  Elsa  broke  the 
spell  by  asking  her  if  she  was  ready ; her  own  bonnet 
was  on,  and  the  wagon  was  at  the  door. 

“The  corn  that  I didn’t  think  of  may  be  ripe  for  the 
harvest,”  she  thought;  “I  must  go  and  see  it  gath- 
ered.” 

Every  step  of  the  way  she  urged  Clapp  to  “ gee  up,” 
or  they  wouldn’t  reach  the  house  time  enough  to  be  of 
the  least  use  to  anybody.  They  soon  clattered  into  the 
premises  by  the  barnyard  gate,  and  she  started  for  the 
porch  door  like  a deer,  forgetting  Philippa,  in  her  eager- 
ness to  get  into  the  house  and  resume  its  duties,  exactly 
at  the  point  where  she  had  left  them  months  ago.  Phil- 
ippa looked  over  the  orchard  paling,  and  at  the  hill,  for 
it  might  be  her  last  view  of  their  familiar  aspect,  and 
then  walked  towards  the  house  with  reluctant  feet.  On 
the  threshold  her  heart  recoiled  against  meeting  Jason 
— the  man  she  could  not  love,  but  could  not  endure  to 
lose. 

“ Just  see,”  said  Elsa,  when  she  entered,  “ this  ring  of 
ashes  on  the  hearth ; kitchen  looks  as  if  it  hadn’t  been 
inhabited.  Mary  is  up  stairs ; the  doctor  is  dressing  the 
wound.  Gilbert  is  there,  too.  Mary  says  he  walks 
round  the  chamber  outside  Jason’s  door  in  his  stocking 
feet,  day  and  night,  just  as  his  dogs  do  in  the  yard.  She 
says  he  is  as  rational  as  she  is,  which  isn’t  saying  much. 
You  d better  ask  the  doctor  for  directions.  I hear  him 
on  the  stairs.” 

She  gave  Philippa  no  chance,  however,  to  speak  to 


TWO  MEN. 


273 


him,  but  assailed  him  with  questions,  beginning  with 
asking  why  in  the  world  he  hadn’t  sent  post  haste  for 
her  and  Philippa.  Jason  strictly  forbade  the  sending 
of  any  message,  he  replied,  and  it  wasn’t  really  neces- 
sary ; he  was  getting  along  very  well,  his  fever  wasn’t 
so  high,  and  unless  mortification  set  in  he  would  be  up 
in  a few  days. 

“ Mortification  !”  exclaimed  Elsa  ; “ do,  if  you  dare 
let  that  take  place.” 

Philippa  slipped  out  of  the  kitchen  while  they  were 
talking,  and  went  up  stairs.  She  must  see  Jason,  and 
the  sooner  the  shock  of  the  meeting  was  over  the  better 
for  her  plan,  which  was  that  she  should  be  his  nurse. 
She  entered  the  chamber,  and  saw  that  he  was  sleeping. 
Mary  sat  by  the  bed,  fanning  away  the  flies  with  a bunch 
of  peacock’s  feathers. 

“Elsa  wants  you  down  stairs,”  Philippa  whispered: 
“ I’ll  stay  up  here  now.” 

Mary  relinquished  the  brush,  and  crept  out,  making  a 
series  of  contortions  to  describe  the  effect  of  the  accident 
upon  her  own  condition,  but  not  daring  to  speak  on  ac- 
count of  Jason’s  slumber. 

As  soon  as  Philippa  took  her  seat  by  the  bedside,  he 
began  to  sigh,  appearing  to  be  in  a painful  dream ; his 
lips  quivered  like  a child’s,  when  it  is  on  the  point  of 
weeping  grievously  for  some  mysterious  reason.  He 
moved  his  head  from  side  to  side,  but,  even  in  his  rest- 
less sleep,  how  motionless  his  right  arm  lay  outside  the 
counterpane ! Presently  he  waved  his  left  hand,  and 
opened  his  eyes. 

“ I thought  we  were  going  down,”  he  said,  “ water- 
logged.” 


274 


TWO  MEN. 


His  pallid,  wandering  eyes,  and  weak,  wailing  voice, 
told  her  how  terrible  the  accident  had  proved.  Every 
thought  fled  from  her,  except  the  one  which  made  her 
heart  full — that  she  must  watch  him,  and  care  for 
him. 

44  A little  water,”  be  begged,  without  noticing  her. 

She  held  a glass  to  his  lips ; the  diamond  ring  caught 
his  attention ; he  touched  it  with  his  finger. 

“ Philippa,  they  don’t  give  me  half  enough  water ; 
won’t  you  let  me  have  more?” 

44  Yes.” 

He  smiled,  and  tried  to  wipe  his  mouth.  44  It’s  awk- 
ward with  the  left  hand,”  he  said. 

She  took  the  handkerchief  from  him,  and  gently 
brushed  his  bearded  face  with  it,  and  smoothed  his  dry, 
tangled  hair.  While  she  was  doing  this,  he  looked  at 
her  with  a happy,  childish  gravity,  and  said,  “ The  lamp 
went  out  last  night.” 

44  It  shall  not  happen  again.” 

44  Shall  you  be  here  all  the  time  ?” 

44  Day  and  night  till  you  are  well.” 

For  the  first  time  he  cast  a peculiar  glance  towards 
his  mutilated  arm — a glance  of  gratitude ; he  was  thank- 
ing the  gun.  He  looked  back  again  at  Philippa,  whose 
tears  were  falling  in  spite  of  herself. 

“You  mustn’t  cry,  yellow-bird.”  But  he  began  to 
weep,  too,  and  Elsa,  opening  the  door,  found  them  both 
crying. 

“You  are  a pretty  one  for  a sick-room,”  she  fiercely 
whispered  to  Philippa ; 44  clear  out,  if  you  can’t  do  better 
than  this.” 

Philippa  was  meekly  obeying  her,  for  she  felt  she  had 


TWO  MEN. 


275 


been  guilty  of  a dangerous,  weak  display  of  feeling, 
when  Jason,  his  eyebrows  knitting  with  anger,  clutched 
Elsa  by  the  sleeve,  and  said,  u She  promised  to  stay.  She 
shan’t  go.  Why  have  you  come  ?” 

“ There,  there,  Jason;  Philippa  is  only  going  out  to 
rest  half  an  hour,  and  I have  only  come  to  take  care  of 
her  clothes,  and  get  her  meals  while  she  waits  upon 
you.” 

“ Well,  well,  that  will  do.”  And  he  closed  his  eyes 
with  exhaustion. 

“ Ha,  ha  !”  said  Elsa,  sarcastically,  stepping  into  Phil- 
ippa’s room,  as  soon  as  he  slept  again ; “ you  could  not 
keep  from  running  over,  could  you  ? It’s  a poor  plan  to 
be  troubled  with  feelings  at  the  wrong  time ; seems  to 
me  you  haven’t  calculated  right,  unless  you  do  want  to 
kill  him  out  and  out.” 

“Pll  do  what  you  think  best.” 

u Go  back  and  play  cheerful,  humor  him  in  every  thing; 
and,  when  you  can’t  humor  him,  cheat  him,” 

“ Will  he  recover  ?” 

u If  the  Lord  wills.” 

“ I asked  your  opinion.” 

“ Pm  dubious ; still,  my  judgment  is  not  worth  much, 
for  I have  had  no  experience  in  gunpowder  accidents — 
except  in  the  case  of  Eli  Coffin,  whose  legs  were  blown 
a mile  into  the  air,  boots  and  all,  when  he  was  blasting 
rocks : he  died.” 

Philippa  smiled  slightly,  and  Elsa  saw  her  seated  be- 
side J ason  again,  satisfied  that  her  nerves  were  strung  to 
the  right  pitch  for  the  sick-room.  Her  own  spirits  rose  to 
the  occasion,  as  they  always  did  before  positive  calami- 
ty ; the  perils  of  the  imagination  she  could  not  face,  but 


276 


TWO  MEN. 


the  plain  facts  of  misfortune  she  could  endure  cheerfully ; 
and  she  bore  their  progress  with  the  more  equanimity 
because  she  herself  had  been  so  long  exempt  from  the 
various  distractions  of  humanity.  It  was  years  since  she 
had  suffered  an  acute  mental  or  physical  pain ; her  voy- 
age over  the  sea  of  trouble  appeared  to  be  ended.  This 
immunity  had  engendered  the  grotesque  humor  which 
looked  unfeeling,  even  to  herself,  sometimes.  She  felt 
so  light-hearted  at  being  able  to  resume  her  former  sway 
in  the  house,  that  she  tried  to  account  for  it  on  the  ground 
of  a special  intervention  to  the  end  of  bringing  her  back 
to  the  family,  and  instinctively  threw  a sop  to  Providence 
by  affirming  that  Jason  would  get  well  to  carry  out  a 
scheme  which  had  long  been  ripening.  But  Jason  was 
in  no  hurry,  it  seemed,  to  finish  it ; his  weakness  out- 
lasted the  fever  which  supervened  his  wound,  till  the 
wound  was  healed.  He  maintained  a neutral  ground, 
which  neither  permitted  the  invasion  of  death,  nor  al- 
lowed the  forces  of  life  to  occupy  it.  In  case  a struggle 
should  rise  between  the  two  powers,  it  was  evident  that 
he  would  be  quite  indifferent  to  the  result.  By  no  word 
or  token  did  he  convey  to  Philippa  one  remembrance  of 
his  love.  After  the  flash  of  feeling  occasioned  by  her 
return,  when  his  mind  was  so  unhinged,  he  accepted  her 
attentions  as  a soldier,  when  taken  to  the  rear,  accepts 
attentions  from  his  passing  comrades  going  to  the  front. 
As  his  illness  continued,  her  feelings  changed;  their  law 
warred  with  the  law  of  her  will.  Their  development  was 
sanctioned  by  his  inability  to  triumph  over  them,  either 
from  abstraction,  blindness,  or  inclination.  In  spite  of 
her  being  shut  in  that  darkened  room  so  many  hours, 
her  eyes  grew  bright,  and  the  fine  gold  of  her  hair 


TWO  MEN. 


2.77 


seemed  to  gain  lustre.  Elsa’s  sharp  wits  discerned  the 
change.  She  took  occasion  one  day,  when  Gilbert,  who 
sometimes  relieved  Philippa,  was  present,  to  suggest  to 
Jason  the  propriety  of  his  recovery,  in  order  to  give 
Philippa  a chance  to  have  a fit  of  sickness. 

“ Isn’t  she  well  ?”  he  asked. 

“ How  can  anybody  be  well  who  does  not  undress  of 
nights,  has  odd  naps  on  sofas,  and  gets  no  regular 
meals  ?” 

“ Of  course  not.  Has  she  been  here  every  night  ?” 

“ Certainly ; haven’t  you  been  aware  of  it,  Jason  ?” 

u I suppose  I must  have  been,  but  took  no  thought  of 
it ; I have  troubled  her  too  much,  then  ?” 

“ Oh  no  ! A helpless  man,  six  feet  without  his 
stockings,  with  one — with  only  one  person  in  his  family 
besides  himself,  is  no  trouble  or  anxiety  to  that  person. 
Oh  no!” 

He  sighed  wearily. 

“ Gilbert  must  stay  up  here  more.  Can’t  you,  old 
fellow  ? I am  no  more  stupid  than  your  oxen.” 

“Yes,  I can,”  said  Gilbert;  “ but  ’pears  to  me  you 
are  gaining  now,  and  the  cattle  ain’t ; ’cause  you  see 
nobody  understands  ’em  but  me,  and  I don’t  know 
as  anybody  understands  me  but  them;  and  so  it 
’pears  as  if  somebody  might  do  better  for  you  than  I 
can.” 

u How  do  you  feel  to-day,  Jason  ?”  asked  Elsa. 

“ The  doctor  will  tell  you.” 

“ If  you  don’t  know  how  you  are,  it  is  a sign  you  are 
better.  You  must  sit  up,  Jason — your  strength  will 
never  come  back  unless  you  try  for  it.  Pull  him  out  of 
bed,  Gilbert,  but  don’t  gee  and  haw  too  much  about  it. 

24 


278 


TWO  MEX. 


Jason,  if  you  don’t  get  well,  every  thing  will  go  to  rack 
and  ruin.” 

“ Where’s  my  clothes  ? ” asked  Jason.  “ Help  me  up, 
Gilbert;  I thought  I was  too  weak,  but  Elsa  knows 
best.” 

“ Mercy  on  me,”  said  Elsa,  leaving  the  room  in  search 
of  some  clothes  for  him.  “ The  loss  of  that  hand  seems 
to  have  changed  his  sex.  He  is  as  spleeny  as  Mary;  but 
he  is  coming  out  of  that  bed,  anyhow.” 

About  nine  o’clock  that  evening  Gilbert  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  Jason’s  room  in  a pair  of  list  shoes  and  a 
woollen  night-cap. 

“Where  is  Philippa?”  Jason  asked,  with  some  en- 
ergy. 

“ I am  here,”  she  answered,  without  leaving  the  sofa, 
which  the  bed-curtains  intercepted  from  his  view. 

“You  are  too  far  off  for  me  to  speak  to  you.” 

Surmising  what  he  had  to  say,  she  went  to  his  bedside. 

“You  have  been  here  all  this  time,  Philippa — it  has 
been  hard  for  you;  I have  not  known  it  always — I thought 
you  were  in  and  out,  and  time  has  passed  so.  I must 
have  confounded  night  with  day.  You  must  let  Gilbert 
relieve  you.” 

“Very  well,”  she  answered,  with  a pain  in  her  heart, 
because  he  had  not  always  known  she  was  there — near 
him.  “ Good-night.” 

Gilbert  snored  so  at  his  post  that  Jason  kept  awake 
half  the  night,  and  finally  told  him  to  go  to  the  devil. 


TWO  MEN. 


279 


CHAPTER  XXX YI. 

A few  hours  of  complete  solitude,  or  this  trifling  effort 
of  will,  placed  Jason  on  the  road  to  recovery.  But  con- 
valescence has  its  pangs,  and  it  was  some  days  before  he 
left  his  chamber.  In  that  period  the  anniversary  of 
Sarah’s  death  occurred.  It  was  passed  by  him  in  gloomy 
silence.  Elsa  celebrated  it  by  an  old-fashioned  bake  in 
the  oven,  such  as  she  and  Sarah  were  wont  to  enjoy  in 
cherry-time ; and  matter-of-fact  as  her  day’s  work  ap- 
peared, Sarah  was  recalled  every  moment — her  looks,  her 
ways,  her  speech — with  an  affectionate  fidelity  which 
would  have  surprised  her  could  she  have  been  cognizant 
of  what  she  had  no  proof  of  in  her  lifetime.  Philippa 
acknowledged  the  day  by  a visit  to  the  hill — her  first 
since  summer  opened — and  reflections  on  the  vast  differ- 
ence between  that  time  and  the  present.  Though  last 
year’s  leaves  were  replaced,  last  year’s  grass  renewed, 
and  the  cedar  boughs  imprisoned  the  familiar  sea-wind, 
and  the  oaks  glittered  with  the  familiar  sunshine,  her 
heart  was  not  moved  with  the  association  which  belonged 
there — 

“ The  touch  of  a vanished  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a voice  that  is  still.” 

Her  eyes  sought  the  gray  roof  below  the  orchard,  be- 
neath which  all  that  made  her  life  a hopeful  and  a sor- 
rowing one  had  transpired.  The  stork  returning  from 


280 


TWO  MEN. 


the  palms  of  Egypt  to  the  roof  in  his  patriarchal  village, 
with  the  wise,  bitter  pain  and  delight  which  all  wan- 
derers feel,  could  not  hover  over  it  with  more  unreason- 
ing fancies  than  her  thoughts  hovered  over  that,  which 
was  now  her  most  desired  shelter.  It  stood  so  near  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  so  plainly  in  sight,  that  she  thought 
the  winter  storms  must  have  destroyed  some  of  the  inter- 
vening trees  ; but  the  truth  was,  she  had  not  looked  upon 
it  before  with  the  same  eyes.  She  examined  the  trees — 
they  were  all  there,  in  the  full  glory  of  summer,  a glory 
that  saddened  her ; it  was  no  longer  a place  for  her  to 
linger  in.  As  she  descended  the  path  she  remembered  a 
poem  which  she  heard  Parke  read  to  Theresa  once,  and 
was  tormented  by  it,  as  one  is  pursued  and  tormented  by 
the  fragment  of  some  old  melody  which  half  repeats 
itself  in  the  brain.  When  she  saw  Jason  the  words 
flashed  into  her  mind : 

“ But  the  laden  summer  will  give  me 
What  it  never  gave  before ; 

Or  take  from  me  what  a thousand 
Summers  can  give  no  more.” 

By  degrees  she  withdrew  from  his  room ; but  it  was 
still  her  habit,  as  he  was  in  bed  by  sundown,  to  spend 
the  early  part  of  the  evening  with  him,  which  was  em 
livened  by  the  exit  and  entrance  of  Elsa,  and  an  occa- 
sional call  from  Mrs.  Rogers. 

A stormy  day  came,  the  evening  of  which  was  undis- 
turbed. Jason  and  Philippa  were  alone,  and  had  not 
spoken  for  an  hour ; he  had  asked  her  to  open  the  win- 
dow, and  was  lying  with  his  face  towards  it,  listening  to 


TWO  MEN. 


281 


the  boom  of  the  sea,  which  mingled  with  the  moaning 
wind. 

“I  am  sorry,”  he  said,  at  last,  “that  you  have  never 
loved  the  sea.” 

“ Why,  Jason  ? 

“That  I might  have  had  the  shadow  of  an  excuse  for 
fancying  that  we  were  kin.” 

“ Do  you  feel  the  need  of  an  excuse  ?”  she  asked  com- 
placently. 

“Yes,  I would  forgive  myself  for  my  infatuation, 
which  blood-letting  has  cured  me  of.” 

“ Infatuation  !” 

“What  name  will  you  give  it,  then  ? How  could  I 
have  made  a greater  fool  of  myself,  than  when,  like  a 
mad  Quixote,  I rode  a tilt  at  the  armor  you  buckled 
on  years  ago — believing  that  I could  hack  it  off?” 

She  could  not  gainsay  the  good  sense  of  his  discourse, 
but  received  it  in  the  faith  that  he  would  return  to  his  folly. 

“You  have  something  to  pardon,”  he  continued,  his 
voice  taking  the  tone  of  an  order.  “ I beg  your  forgive- 
ness— not  for  the  feeling  which  prompted  my  assaults 
upon  you,  but  for  the  assault ; give  it,  and  let  us  be  at 
peace.” 

She  left  her  seat,  and  went  to  the  bedside,  and  kneeled 
down  by  him. 

“Jason,  you  may  kiss  me.” 

He  shook  his  head,  with  a smile. 

“We  are  not  mates,  Philippa.” 

“ I know  that ; but  I have  found  a flaw  in  that  armor.” 

“ I don’t  believe  it.” 

She  rose  from  her  knees,  and  stood  looking  at  him 
with  eyes  that  flashed  a tumult  of  shame,  anger,  and 

24* 


282 


TWO  MEN, 


deprecation  ; but  behind  all  this  there  shone  a new  light 
which  smote  his  senses,  and  made  him  thrill  from  head 
to  foot,  in  spite  of  all  his  resolutions. 

“ It  is  only  me,  Jason  Auster — mutilated,”  he  ex- 
claimed, motioning  her.  away,  unable  to  bear  her  eyes 
any  longer.  He  pulled  beside  him  the  little  table  at  the 
head  of  the  bed,  with  a shaded  lamp  upon  it,  for  a bar- 
ricade between  them.  She  retreated  just  beyond  the 
circle  of  lamp-light,  which  revealed  his  face  completely  : 
it  was  luminous— full  of  shifting  expression.  She  sought 
among  its  changes  a resemblance  to  Parke;  it  was  a 
satisfaction  to  find  nothing  that  reminded  her  of  his 
winning,  delicious  beauty  in  the  haggard,  bearded  man 
before  her — of  whom  she  was  beginning  to  feel  a whole- 
some dread. 

“ I have  but  little  more  to  say,”  he  added  presently, 
with  rather  a husky  voice.  u I have  made  up  my  mind 
to  leave  you — simply,  because  I have  no  reason  for 
staying.  Your  business  affairs  are  so  ticketed,  that  you 
can  manage  them,  and  Parke’s  also.  By  the  way,  did 
you  never  think  what  an  advantage  your  money  would 
have  been  to  me  ?” 

She  started  up,  crying : 

“ You  will  go  a poor  man  !” 

“ Yes  ; but  I shall  go  to  the  West,  where  I expect  to 
acquire  fortune  and  fame  as  the  c One-handed  Back- 
woodsman,5 or  6 The  Lone  Bee-Hunter.5  A poor  man  ! 
Have  I been  a rich  one  ever?  Ungenerous  girl,  think  a 
moment  of  the  nonentity,  me — who,  for  twenty  years, 
have  managed  the  Parke  property — which,  like  a beast, 
has  welked  and  waved  its  horns  before  all  the  family, 
including  yourself — and  held  you  in  thrall.55 


TWO  MEN. 


283 


He  was  reading  her  to  herself!  She  made  a move- 
ment towards  him,  and,  with  a gasp,  said,  44  Curse  it !” 

44  Oh  no,  Philippa ; you  live  in  Crest,  and  the  family 
graveyard  is  here.” 

His  manner  was  too  painful  for  her  to  hear ; she  laid 
her  hand  on  the  door-latch. 

44  You  won’t  ask  me  to  stay,  then?”  he  said  loudly. 

“I  will  tell  you  no  lies.  If  you  leave  me,  you  will 
take  with  you  every  hope  that  remains  in  my  heart. 
But  I do  not  ask  you  to  stay ; neither  will  I offer  you 
money.” 

46 1 thought  so.” 

44 1 will  go  now — if  you  have  finished.” 

44  The  token  of  forgiveness,  you  offered  just  now,”  he 
said,  in  a faint  voice, 44 1 accept  it.” 

44 1 said  that  you  might  kiss  me.  Shall  I come  back, 
that  you  may  do  so  ?” 

44  No  ; go — for  I do  not  believe  in  your  hopes.  And 
I will  not  comfort  your  methodical  soul,  by  trussing  up 
the  interview  with  proper  feeling  and  fine  words.” 

She  closed  the  chamber-door. 


284 


TWO  MEN. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Consideration-  for  Philippa  induced  Jason  to  write 
a note  to  Mr.  Ritchings  to  inform  him  that  he  was  go- 
ing on  a tour  to  the  West  for  his  health.  He  also  told 
Mrs.  Rogers,  who  significantly  remarked  that  his  plan 
was  ..a  very  good  one.  In  a day  or  two  he  was  gone, 
without  sounding  a note  of  preparation,  with  no  leave- 
taking,  no  instructions — unless  giving  Philippa  his 
office-key  might  be  considered  in  the  light  of  an  instruc- 
tion. He  had  no  destination,  but  stopped  by  chance, 
as  he  had  done  more  than  twenty  years  before,  at  a 
town  hundreds  of  miles  from  Crest,  whose  name  he  had 
never  heard — new  enough  to  have  a perspective  of  abo- 
riginal forest,  from  which  the  panther  and  the  wild-can 
the  inhabitants  said,  had  scarcely  retreated.  Here  he 
sought  repose,  but  did  not  find  it.  He  must  go  farther, 
he  concluded,  and  resumed  his  journey.  His  health  and 
strength  came  back,  but  he  was  restless  and  miserable  ; 
the  roots  of  his  existence  tugged  him  backwards,  and 
he  retraced  his  steps  slowly,  contesting  every  inch  of 
the  way  with  resolutions,  to  be  put  in  practice  at  the 
stopping-place  before  him  ! Within  fifty  miles  of  Crest 
he  had  reached  the  spot  favorable  for  reflection  concern- 
ing the  future,  giving  his  resolutions,  for  the  present, 
the  go-by ; but  his  reflections  did  not  get  beyond  the 
starting^oint,  which  was,  “ If  I go  back  to  her — ” 

He  bought  a fishing-rod,  and  went  up  to  the  trout 


TWO  MEN. 


285 


streams  among  the  hills,  where  he  passed  many  hours  a 
day  in  not  catching  fish.  In  the  evenings  he  practised 
writing  with  his  left  hand,  and  chose  for  copy  letters  to 
Philippa,  which  he  tore  up  as  soon  as  he  saw  “ J ason 
Auster”  written  at  the  end. 

At  the  time  of  his  departure  Philippa  made  resolu- 
tions also,  which  were  better  kept ; she  determined  to 
live  as  if  all  she  was  ever  to  possess  could  be  contained 
in  the  limits  of  each  day.  Too  much  time  had  been 
wasted  in  expectation  and  preparation  for  events  which 
had  never  taken  place,  and  now  never  would.  Her 
years  had  glided  away  in  getting  ready  for  happiness ; 
happiness  must  be  left  out  in  her  plan.  She  thought  of 
all  the  old  maids  she  had  known  with  property — there 
were  several  scattered  over  the  area  of  Crest — and  she 
remembered  them  as  cheerful,  hard-headed  women,  with 
few  amusements  and  a good  deal  of  business.  Then 
she  thought  of  the  widows  of  her  acquaintance — Elsa 
was  one,  and  she  would  apply  to  her  for  information. 

“What  is  the  nature  of  your  feelings  from  day  to 
day  ?”  she  asked  her. 

“ Lord  a mercy,  Philippa,  which  way  is  the  cat  jump- 
ing now  ?” 

“ I mean,  have  you  any  happiness  without  a particu- 
lar object  to  live  for  ?” 

“ Object  ? — You  mean  Bowen.  He  was  an  object. 
As  for  happiness,  I haven’t  thought  about  it ; but  I 
will,  and  let  you  know  my  conclusion  immediately.” 

“No  matter,  don’t  think:  if  you  do,  I know  the  con- 
clusion you  will  come  to.” 

Elsa  screamed  with  laughter,  and  told  her  she  was 


286 


TWO  MEN. 


just  cutting  her  eye-teeth ; eye-teeth  meant  that  all  was 
vanity  of  vanities. 

Strong-minded  as  Philippa  thought  she  must  he,  she 
felt  a great  reluctance  to  approach  any  thing  like  busi- 
ness ; but  the  time  came  when  she  was  obliged  to  turn 
the  key  of  Jason’s  office.  It  seemed  to  her,  as  she 
looked  over  his  books  and  papers,  as  if  he  had  for  a 
long  time  expected  to  be  called  suddenly  away.  In- 
stead of  pursuing  her  new  calling,  she  cried,  and  went 
home  with  a headache. 

About  this  time  J ason  wrote  a letter,  which  he  post- 
ed. It  contained  a few  words,  so  strangely  and  tremu- 
lously written,  that  Philippa’s  heart  felt  a pang  at  the 
sight  of  them. 

“ I am  coming  back,”  he  wrote,  “ to  ask  your  forgive- 
ness a second  time.” 

“ I have  received  a letter  from  Jason,”  she  said  to 
Elsa  ; “ he  will  be  home  soon.” 

“What  did  he  go  away  for  ? Just  for  the  sake  of 
turning  round  and  coming  back  ? Where  is  the  letter 
from  ?” 

Philippa,  ashamed  to  tell  the  post-mark,  held  the  en- 
velope before  her ; when  she  spelt  the  name  of  the  town 
so  near  them,  she  looked  at  Philippa  and  said,  “ I always 
knew  that  Jason  Auster  was  a fool.” 

But  Philippa  saw  that  she  was  glad. 

“Mind  you,”  she  continued,  discovering  that  her  joy 
was  detected,  “ I approve  of  his  coming  back,  because 
it  is  respectable  to  have  a man  about  who  goes  by  the 
name  of  the  6 head  of  the  family Jason  never  had  any 
thing  more  than  the  title — ” 

“ Being  a fool,”  interrupted  Philippa. 


TWO  MEY. 


287 


“ And  I think  it  is  a pity,”  she  went  on,  “ that  some- 
body shouldn't  take  care  of  you — you  poor,  lone  girl, 
that  never  was  befriended  in  your  life.” 

Tears,  rare  visitors,  dimmed  her  glasses,  but  Philippa 
could  not  share  them ; she  patted  her,  walked  round  the 
table  on  tiptoe,  and  finally  put  her  fingers  in  the  dough 
Elsa  was  preparing,  and  rubbed  it  in  her  wrinkles,  to 
smooth  her  old  face. 

A sentiment  not  to  be  accounted  for,  led  Philippa  at 
dusk  to  the  unfrequented  parlor.  The  air  there  was 
tranquil  and  lifeless,  as  it  is  in  uninhabited  rooms.  She 
paced  the  soft  carpet ; the  dry  odor  of  its  undisturbed 
dust  floated  in  the  air,  and  strangely  reminded  her  of 
flowers. 

“ If  Theresa  Bond  were  in  my  place,”  she  thought, 
“ she  would  have  filled  the  vases  here  with  flowers ; 
4 the  rose  of  expectancy’  would  be  visible  everywhere.” 

She  took  up  the  vases  on  the  mantel-shelf  and  looked 
into  them.  One  had  some  dried  leaves  in  it ; she  shook 
them  out  on  the  carpet,  thinking  they  were  green  when 
Parke  was  there ; he  might  have  gathered  them,  for  he 
had  a way  of  bringing  flowers  into  the  house,  and 
placing  them  in  vases,  books,  on  the  floor,  on  the  piano. 
The  piano — when  had  that  been  opened?  She  raised 
the  cover,  and  struck  the  keys  with  fingers  that  brought 
out  a wandering,  wailing  discord. 

A heavy  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoulder,  which  brought 
it  to  an  end. 

“Jason,”  she  said  gently,  without  turning  round.  * 

“Yes,  I have  just  arrived.  Why  are  you  in  this 
room  ? Did  I hear  the  lament  of  the  damned  ?” 

He  sighed,  and  she  turned  quickly  towards  him.  His 


288 


TWO  MEN. 


arm  was  still  in  a sling.  Before  he  comprehended  what 
she  was  doing,  she  took  the  sling  from  his  neck,  put  it 
round  her  own,  and  slipped  his  arm  through  it  again. 

“ My  burden,”  she  said,  “ that  I love.” 

He  enclosed  her  with  his  other  arm. 

“ And  my  protection,  that  I love  better.” 

“ It  is  enough,”  he  answered. 


TWO  MEN. 


289 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

W hex  Philippa’s  prospect  was  limited  to  the  Scotch 
firs  in  the  yard,  and  the  curtains  of  Indian  chintz  before 
the  parlor  windows,  Parke’s  extended  oyer  the  savannas 
of  Apure,  where  the  grasses,  verdant  through  the  year, 
were  more  beautiful  than  the  flower-beds  of  the  terrace 
at  Crest.  The  earthly  paradise,  peopled  with  birds  of 
the  most  brilliant  colors,  and  almost  every  variety  of 
animal,  was  at  present  invaded  by  a party  on  a cattle- 
hunt,  which  party,  including  Parke  and  Osmond  Luce, 
was  composed  of  military  men,  Llaneros,  and  negroes. 
The  expedition,  starting  from  Maracay  weeks  before, 
had  traversed  an  extensive  tract  of  country,  stopping  at 
the  various  cattle-farms  on  the  devious  route  to  the  pam- 
pas, to  hunt  among  the  wild  herds  of  the  native  proprie- 
tors, or  the  still  wilder  herds  with  no  proprietor  at  all. 

Parke,  dressed  in  a check  flannel  shirt,  breeches  but- 
toned tightly  at  the  knee,  and  with  a checkered  hand- 
kerchief bound  round  his  head,  was  as  much  at  ease,  and 
looked  far  handsomer  than  any  Llanero  the  pampas 
could  boast  of.  Seated  on  a stool  of  stretched  hide,  in 
a hut  thatched  with  palm-leaves,  and  plastered  with  mud 
and  straw,  he  impressed  those  around  him  with  the  air 
of  having  been  to  the  “ manor  born.” 

“ Our  foreign  friend,”  observed  a young  man,  “ seems 
to  carry  us  all  in  his  eye.” 

u He  plays  the  Llanero  well,  though,”  replied  another 

25 


290 


TWO  MEN. 


“He  is  not  the  desperate  player  our  comrade  Osmond 
Luce  is.” 

44  At  card-breaking,  you  mean.” 

“Hist,  he  is  looking  at  you,  and  he  brought  some 
capital  pistols  from  the  States.” 

“How  much  past  daybreak  is  it?”  inquired  Parke. 
“ I want  to  get  a jaguar-skin  before  night.” 

“ Time  enough  for  that,”  replied  young  Castejon. 
“But  I say,  sir,  I have  taken  a fancy  to  that  cream- 
colored  horse  of  yours.  Will  you  part  with  him?” 

“You  shall  have  him,”  Parke  replied,  “if  you  will 
break  for  me  the  black  stallion  we  saw  in  the  corral  last 
night.” 

“ Excuse  me.” 

“ Pshaw !”  cried  Osmond.  “ Break  him  yourself, 
Parke.  As  for  the  cream-colored,  we’ll  stake  him.” 

“ Play,”  said  Parke.  “ Oh  yes — for  4 el  ultimo  mono 
siempre  se  ahoga .’  ” (The  last  monkey  is  sure  to  be 
drowned.) 

“ What ! are  you  apt  at  our  proverbs  already  ?”  asked 
Castejon.  44  Let  us  go  and  look  at  the  stallion.” 

44  No,”  said  Parke,  lazily.  44  You  go,  and  bring  me^ 
lock  of  his  mane.” 

44  Something  is  going  on  now  in  the  mcijada ,”  cried 
one. 

All  rushed  out  except  Parke  and  Osmond.  The  latter 
lighted  a cigar,  and  Parke  took  his  knife  from  his  belt 
and  examined  its  edge.  Keeping  his  eye  on  it,  he  said : 

44  The  bats  dropped  into  my  hammock  so  last  night 
that  I could  not  sleep,  and  with  the  first  light  I saun- 
tered out.  I swear  to  you  that  the  atmosphere  was  so 
transparent  that  it  seemed  to  bring  within  my  vision 


TWO  MEN. 


291 


the  terrace  and  the  windows  of  the  old  house.  The 
casement  didn’t  grow  a 4 glimmering  square,’  but  the 
panes  glittered  in  the  morning  light,  as  I have  some- 
times seen  them  glitter  at  sunset.” 

“ You’ve  got  the  mirage — home-sickness.” 

u No,  I am  not  home-sick.  But  why  do  I ask  myself 
questions  concerning  Philippa,  lately  ?” 

“No  thought  of  her  belongs  in  these  scenes.  Sup- 
pose we  go  and  shoot  crocodiles  this  forenoon.  We 
might  dissect  one  on  account  of  its  tears.” 

“ Her  spirit  comes,”  continued  Parke,  “ when  I do  not 
call  for  it.” 

“ And  never  comes  when  I do,”  said  Osmond,  tearing 
a cigar  to  pieces. 

“ Poor  Philippa  !”  mused  Parke. 

“ You  continue  to  believe  in  your  star — don’t  you?” 
Osmond  asked,  irritably. 

“Certainly,  in  the  star  of  my  will.” 

“ And  thaX  has  brought  you  to  the  pampas.” 

“ And  it  may  take  me  back.” 

Osmond  laughed. 

“ I’ll  bet  you  a herd  that  when  you  do  go  back,  you 
will  find  Philippa  married.” 

“ To  whom  ?” 

“ Jason  Auster.” 

“ Never ! It  is  impossible.” 


FINIS. 


